


You’ll Burn, I’ll Eat Your Ashes

by Thatmalu



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Animal Death, Biting, Blood, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Bloody Kisses, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Bruises, Car Sex, Dubious Consent, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak in Denial, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Gay Disaster Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Human/Vampire Relationship, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Munchausen by proxy, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Pedophilia mention, Post-First Battle with Pennywise (IT), Richie Tozier Being a Dumbass, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Rough Sex, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Supportive Losers Club (IT), The Losers Club Are Not Heterosexual (IT), Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Richie Tozier, Vampire Bites, Vampire Eddie Kaspbrak, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Vomiting, Young Adult Losers Club (IT), no children are harmed but I’m tagging it anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatmalu/pseuds/Thatmalu
Summary: It was no surprise to hear how shocked Richie was when Eddie actually called his house tonight. Like no time had passed at all, like they weren’t just complete dicks to each other over the last few months, they were back to their usual banter within seconds. And Eddie got Richie laughing, really hollering over something stupid he said. His laughter was pure sunshine to Eddie’s ears.It was only fitting that this time — the last time Eddie would hear it — would be the loudest it had ever been.**************************A story of self-discovery, abuse recovery, pining idiots in love, and oh yeah Eddie becomes a vampire.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 92
Kudos: 58





	1. Drifting Through My Open Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Ayoooo.
> 
> I've had a couple fics lately I posted just for the sake of getting them out there, but I'm back to that slower burn shit. It's been a lot of fun to plan and have some interesting elements that I hope you enjoy<3
> 
> Please heed the tags. The non-con elements are not explicit (no scenes will be "shown" so I didn't do the Archive Warning) but the tags are still there, the themes are very much present and spoken about, and all that heavy stuff. If additional tags need to be added, do not hesitate to let me know!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will add chapter cw/tw but they will contain spoilers so be warned://**spoilers**// explicit suicidal ideation, suicide planning, suicide attempt, overdosing, child abuse, forced vomiting, vomit eating, Munchausen's by proxy, psychological abuse of a child****//

****************************************

There was not a sound more beautiful to Eddie’s ears than the guffawing honk of laughter Richie made when Eddie  _ got off a good one. _ Telling a joke that made  _ Richie _ giggly and somehow at a loss for comprehensible speech had that same gratification as the finish line ribbon tearing across Eddie’s chest after winning a race. Hearing Richie’s laugh was contagious and it burned Eddie’s cheeks with a delightful grin as his chest swelled with pride.

Things had been weird between them for a few months now. After Eddie’s eighteenth birthday in November, the rest of them started to get college acceptance letters and Eddie started to realize his birthday would be his last big hurrah with them all. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, making any of them feel guilty for having the ability to move on from Derry, Eddie started to spend less and less time with them individually. Sometimes he’d study with Ben or hang out with Bill. Mostly, he’d let them come to his track meets — before his mother found out about them and pulled him out immediately.

But Richie and Eddie had not been seeing each other in private since Richie was the last one to wish Eddie a happy birthday and give him a tiny box with a tape inside. Richie seemed disappointed whenever Eddie didn’t want to join the conversations about college,  _ insisting _ to them all that he wanted to save his money and go to the local community college here. After a while, though, Richie was able to shrug it off and sometimes do a good job ignoring Eddie completely. 

It was no surprise to hear how shocked Richie was when Eddie actually called his house tonight. Like no time had passed at all, like they weren’t just complete dicks to each other over the last few months, they were back to their usual banter within seconds. And Eddie got Richie  _ laughing,  _ really hollering over something stupid he said. His laughter was pure  _ sunshine  _ to Eddie’s ears.

It was only fitting that this time — the last time Eddie would hear it — would be the loudest it had ever been.

In the damning time it took for Richie to calm himself, likely wiping tears from under his glasses, Eddie sighed into the phone receiver and twirled the cord. Making Richie laugh in their final exchange of words would matter more to Richie in the end. By the morning, he’d know why this phone call was so special — why Eddie was being so carefree and open in his dirtiness and snark, even if his  _ mother _ was at risk of hearing. For now, he’d enjoy it and hopefully hate Eddie less in the morning for what he was going to do to them.

Even if he deserved it. Even if he  _ needed _ to. They’d understand, maybe. He hoped.

But in the end, it wouldn’t even matter. Not for Eddie. 

Then they’d all forget. Life moves on. 

In front of Eddie laid five letters. A sixth one had been sent to Beverly yesterday. She’d hopefully receive it not much later than the others would. She’d long forgotten about the Losers for many years now, but she held a special place in Eddie’s heart. So he had taken some time to look up where she was living so he could at least let her know how much she meant —  _ had _ meant — no,  _ still _ meant. 

Each letter was handwritten, sealed, and addressed to the appropriate Loser. A lot of them said similar things.  _ It’s not your fault. This was my choice. There was no other way. I just can’t do it anymore. _ Yadda yadda. It didn’t specify his death, per se, but it was pretty clearly stated that he was never coming back to Derry. Only one of the letters made no mention at all of what Eddie was about to do.

That letter was for Richie.

If Richie was going to hear the truth from Eddie — or, _ read  _ the truth — he didn’t want it clouded in a mess of upsetting business like  _ death. _ When Eddie wrote his letter to Richie, it was nothing but all the _ joy  _ Eddie felt for him, all the love and adoration Richie deserved to feel. That was all he wanted to leave behind for Richie to keep; love and hope.

In a funny way, Eddie thought it would be the best of both worlds. Richie would get to feel loved without having the burden of dealing with the awkwardness that came after. There would be no Eddie around anymore to make him feel uncomfortable. Eddie couldn’t even fathom how that could feel. Perhaps it was something like the way Patrick Hockstetter made them feel when he would ogle them and make crude remarks. 

The way Patrick’s eyes bore into Eddie made him feel icky and wrong in all sorts of ways that made him  _ sickened  _ with himself. Would Richie see Eddie as something monstrous after learning the truth? Would he be as afraid of Eddie as Eddie had been of Patrick? By the seal of this envelope, he hoped this would put a stop to that happening. He tried to his best ability to express all the  _ good _ that had come with loving Richie. Nothing like the darkness of a predator. 

At least Eddie wouldn’t really have to know, anyway.

The terrible, ringing silence that came after Eddie hung up the phone washed over him. His brain tried to process that he had just heard Richie Tozier’s voice for the last time. An ache blossomed in his chest, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. It was  _ longing, _ and Eddie had learned a long time ago how to recognize it. Now that he was ending his life soon, that longing would have to be snuffed out.

It’s two in the morning when Eddie is finally ready. He’s got all of his medication bottles in a backpack slung over his shoulder. The letters are in hand and he stops for just one thing before he leaves; the mixtape that Richie had made him for his eighteenth birthday. 

As if some unknown force was guiding him out with ease, not a single floorboard creaked beneath his weight. He felt like he was floating as he made his way down the stairs, unnoticed by his mother. Despite her wide open bedroom door, her usual sense to know every time Eddie so much as went to take a piss in the middle of the night seemed to be hindered. She did not stir and Eddie found himself outside without a single issue.

Inside his backpack, along with his pills and a water bottle, were tools to help him screw off the license plates from his mothers car. Once he was sure all traces of identification (at least from the outside) were gone, he thinks he’s ready to begin his drive. 

He’s not sure why it doesn’t scare him to be behind the wheel of a car. He hadn’t even been afraid of his soapbox racer as a kid. Something about driving just  _ soothed  _ him. Maybe it was the freedom that came with it. Knowing that, if you really wanted to, you could let the wheels take you wherever you wanted. Any endless direction. Eddie didn’t have the ability to get lost anywhere except his own mind, so driving into oblivion didn’t phase him.

The calm in his body as he pops the final letter in Richie’s mailbox and finally hits the road to nowhere should be unnerving to anyone with a sound mind. His heart should be breaking, but he pleasantly reminds himself that his friends probably won’t  _ know _ he’s dead; just missing. He’s leaving them all with some bit of hope that he’s in Canada somewhere, living his best life away from his mother. 

_ If only that were possible, _ he thought ruefully. But he could  _ never _ live a life away from his friends. They were the one and only aspect of Eddie’s life that remained somewhat stable, and the only thing that had kept him going this long. But his mother had made damn sure Eddie knew that he would be left in Derry with her after they graduated. His friends would all go to Los Angeles and New York and Chicago, and he would be stuck here to rot alone. He would have to go to the local college so that his mother could take care of him, like the sick boy he was.

After he was done with therapy, that is.

“They’ll wipe all of that  _ filth _ from your head, Eddie,” she cried the night she found his porn mag — his  _ gay _ porn mag. He’s still not sure why he risked bringing such a thing into his  _ house, _ but there wasn’t any other place to hide it. Certainly not the clubhouse, where someone would find it and know at least  _ one _ of them was a big ole queer. 

He learned too late that he should’ve risked that instead of what actually happened.

Even worse than his friends was his mother knowing, all of her fears realized in a single moment. She had spent so much time complaining about Eddie’s friends, he wasn’t sure why he didn’t see it before. How she  _ knew, _ she damn well fucking  _ knew, _ and she had been trying to suppress it for his entire life. This discovery was only confirmation that her efforts hadn’t been working, so she called the church and got the  _ professionals _ involved. Once Eddie graduated, he was going to be sent off to a special  _ camp _ where they would  _ treat his illness. _

If only he had pills that could fix him for something like this.

Oh, all the  _ pills. _

There was once upon a time in which Eddie had decided to stop taking them. It had happened around the time of the clown, but it was only because he had lost his fanny pack in the sewers. When he didn’t feel any different (well, he felt  _ powerful _ after demolishning a space monster with a fucking  _ inhaler,  _ but  _ semantics) _ he realized he may not have  _ needed _ the pills anymore. He was doing just fine without them.

His mother insisted otherwise. 

As he got older, he and his mother (and everyone else, really) were becoming aware of something -- that no matter how much puberty Eddie went through, he just didn’t  _ grow. _ At his last recorded height gain, just after turning seventeen, he capped out at about five-foot-four and his doctor had little hope that he’d get any more than that. So as a small child in his mothers eyes still, she came to the conclusion that he could still be  _ manhandled _ as one.

With love, of course.

After months,  _ years _ of regaining the fear of his mothers hand, he fell back in line and did what he was told. Except, with some loopholes. He had learned how to cheek his pills and spit them into his hand, shove them away into his pocket and throw them away later. Whatever it took to protest without her knowing and keep his own sanity. It was strangely powerful to gain that kind of bodily autonomy, even if he had to pretend she was still in control.

The problem with Sonia Kaspbrak is that, although she can be genuinely ignorant about many things, she only  _ plays _ dumb. Mostly, it's been to manipulate Eddie into doing something, guilt him into feeling bad for his mother, for whatever horrible thing he was doing to her. And Eddie knows that he does a lot to her —one of the many reasons he feels now that it’s best to off himself at eighteen and save her the terrible grief of dealing with him for the rest of their lives.  _ He _ is just too much,  _ he _ is just too sick, and it's for the best before he does something as stupid as cheeking pills that he needs.

The desperation to keep Eddie on his medication was made clear his freshman year of high school. It wasn’t long after he began to stuff them under his tongue or learned how to let them roll down the sleeve of his shirt while pretending to pop them in his mouth. His mother came to pick him up early from school one morning, before he had even had his lunch. Usually she would just keep him home if he had a doctor's appointment so early, so it came as a shock to be pulled out of Algebra out of nowhere.

Fear settled deep in Eddie’s bones when his mother remained silent in the car. She wasn’t taking him into town. They were riding back to the house. The first thing that came to Eddie’s mind was that someone  _ died, _ something horrible and unexpected had happened and it was paining his mother too much to talk about. Eddie was too afraid to make conversation and pry about what was wrong. He just let his thoughts settle into his stomach and churn it uncomfortably.

The only thing his mother said before getting out of the car in the driveway was, “Kitchen.”

So he complied.

On their table was a bowl and a sifter placed on top of it, much like Eddie had seen Maggie use for baking. Sonia pointed to the chair in front of it and Eddie sat in it politely, as it was his duty as a son to listen to his mother without question.

“I need you to throw up, Eddie.”

As if sentient, his stomach twisted at the idea that it was asked to be emptied, and Eddie gaped up at his mother incredulously. “I don’t have to throw up, mommy.”

“I’m not asking you again. Throw up in here,” she said, jabbing her finger at the bowl in front of him.

“I… mommy, I  _ can’t…” _

He was begging her while sobbing in the chair as she threatened him with the ipecac syrup. With his eyes and cheeks already swollen with tears, he finally agreed to listen to his mother like a  _ good son. _ It felt like minutes or even hours went by of him trying and failing to stick his small hand down his tight throat, his own drool dripping down his hand as he sputtered and failed to make himself sick. When she grew impatient, Sonia finally grabbed his wrist and roughly thrust his hand farther down and his sick spilled out, hot and burning with bile. Before he could even choke on a gasp of air, she was taking the bucket away and bringing it to the sink.

Of all the strange things she did — and really, he only realized they were strange because his  _ friends _ told him so —  _ this _ had been the most bizarre. But her sinister intentions were made clear within just a minute. He was still sitting there panting and sniffling and wanting to wipe off his face and stop feeling pathetic as a fourteen-year-old with a quivering lip, when she threw the bowl back down in front of him.

“Where are your pills, Eddie?”

How was he supposed to explain that? He just  _ couldn’t _ and so he cried some more and begged for forgiveness, reminding her that he knew he was a terrible son for doing such a thing and disobeying her. She was gracious enough to give him another chance, but she told him he still needed to be punished.

“What do I need to do, mommy?”

“You’ll see,” she said simply.

So days went by of him making sure to  _ take his medication _ and appease his mother, but the punishment seemed to have been forgotten. Until the end of the following week, when he was called out of Algebra again and his legs shook with fear as he walked out of his classroom and mentally prepared himself. His stomach was already churning with the anticipation of throwing up, which he gladly did without question this time.

“There they are,” Sonia cooed over Eddie’s sniffling. “I was so worried you would disobey me again, Eddie.”

“No, mommy, I promised,” he cried. 

“Very good,” she said as she pat his head. “Now, you know that you need to take  _ all _ your pills every day so you can get better, right?”

“Yes, mommy…”

“So we can’t have these go to waste, right?”

“Yes, mo—  _ what?” _

“We can’t waste these pills, Eddie-bear,” she said with a sickly smile. “You’ll have to take them again.”

“Muh-mommy… I can’t… they’re…  _ disgusting…” _

“And that’s exactly why I won’t have to worry about you throwing them away again,” she said firmly, prompting him to recall that he was still in need of her punishment. 

So Eddie proved to her again that he was a good son and stuck his shaking fingers into the sifter to pick out a partially digested pill. He willed himself not to vomit again, gagging on reflex as he brought it to his lips and swallowed it with a heavy sob. She watched him take each and every bile soaked pill again, checking and double checking that he had plucked them all out.

He hadn’t missed a pill since. Occasionally, over the years, she had checked to make sure, and he always swallowed the medication a second time. It was impossible not to cry, but his mother already knew he was weak and pathetic. 

Ironic, he thinks now, that he’s using those same medications to kill himself. 

The entire ride upstate he’s thinking about those damn pills and the vomit and the clown and all the horrible things in his mind that he can’t escape from. He’s read enough about those camps to know he’d end up hanging himself from his bunk bed, anyway. At least now he’s saving his mother from the failed effort. It’s annoying, at the least, that all he seems to think about on the overnight drive is all the things wrong with him and all the things he hates about his mother (which he  _ hates _ that he hates her, because he knows how much she loves him). But he supposes that this is the way it always will be, so he can’t turn back now lest he want to continue to live like this.

The lake Eddie picked is gorgeous as the sun starts to rise. Eddie always thought that sunrises were underrated. He still appreciates sunsets, but he got to see them every day. There was something so serene about the isolation, knowing that the world around him was tucked away, hidden in their dreams. It was peaceful; a fitting last view, he thinks. No one would probably find him for months, considering it had been months since anyone had laid foot here. 

The only reason Eddie knew this was because this was where he wanted to go: somewhere people had not been for a very long time. When Eddie had a place to go, he got there, and he never got lost. On his drive here, he had simply wanted to go and be alone for a very long time. So he was confident his body wouldn’t be found until the Losers had left Derry and Maine and only his mother would still be looking for him. He’s so many hours from home with no identifiable marks on the car or on his person, either. 

He’s finally getting peace.

Eddie rolls the windows down, letting the fresh natural air brush against his cheeks. He pops in Richie’s mixtape before he reaches into his backpack for his pills. There’s not really any sense in looking at them. He thinks it might just be best if he takes all of them. There’s still half a month of prescription here, so two weeks worth of ten pills should be more than enough. He’s not sure of what his body is going to be doing as it shuts down, but he hopes he’s taking enough that it’ll be fast. He’s so small and weak that it’s  _ bound _ to.

After so many years, it’s easy enough to take handfuls of them with just the one bottle of water he’s got. It’s silly, but he didn’t want to have to use the restroom or urinate himself postmortem. He supposes it’s ok to think silly things like that, but he has to remind himself it won’t matter, anyway. Animals might eat his body and piss on him like a fire hydrant, for all he knows. It won’t matter. It’s not  _ much _ worse than things the Bowers gang had done to him over the years.

He’s not sure if it's from the drive or the impending overdose, but he’s starting to feel sleepy pretty fast. He’s finally drifting to a better place.

Richie’s mixtape is still on as Eddie gets closer to wherever that place is. He’s realizing about halfway through that he hadn’t actually listened to the whole thing before. The songs are fun and silly, but it’s nothing he ever thought he could get away with listening to at his house. So he only risked listening to it a handful of times. Sappy love songs start coming on and, even mid-suicide, Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes at Richie from the many miles away he is. 

“Idiot,” Eddie mumbles, shaking his head as  _ Eddie My Love _ comes on, a song Richie used to taunt him with on the elementary school playgrounds. Still, he lets it play and he thinks the mixtape is over when silence follows. It’s when he reaches over to rewind it and start it from the beginning when—

_ “Hey, Eddie.” _

Eddie’s hand freezes and he slumps back into his seat, listening as intently as he can — after all, it’s probably the last thing he’s ever going to hear again.

_ “Happy Birthday! You know, after all these years, you’d think I’d get used to you being older than me, but it’s really hard to do when I could use your head like a footrest—” _

“For fucks sake, Richie,” Eddie sighed, feeling his eyelids getting heavy. He can picture Richie so easily, sitting in his bedroom, surrounded by all his dirty laundry on the floor, fidgeting with things as he rambled into the recorder.

_ “Uh, anyway, I… I never know how to do these things without turning it into a joke. Fuck, I’m just, like, by myself in my bedroom and I still gotta riff on you. Sorry. That’s not… I just wanted to… well, I know we’re all going to be leaving soon. I know you’re insisting on staying to save money and stuff, but I wanted to ask if… if money weren’t an object… if you’d come to New York with me? Stan’s dad is, uh… he’s gonna get Stan a two-bedroom place so Stan has a study room — whatever the fuck that is. But Donald isn’t gonna know I’m actually staying in the other room. And I’ve asked Stan and he’s totally cool with you staying there with us…” _

_ What the fuck is he going off about?  _ Eddie can’t help but think, even in the haze of sleep that’s overtaking him.  _ Why would he put this on a mixtape? _

_ “The thing is, I know you’re sitting there pouting and annoyed about listening to me ramble and are probably wondering… well, I was too afraid to ask you in person. Because I wanted to give you the chance to… not have to tell me no. I know it’s hard for you to say no sometimes, even when you want to. And by now you might… maybe, I don’t know, you might  _ know _ why I’m asking you this. Why I’m… fucking shit. I can’t even do this. I want to stay with you. However long you’d let me. There’s a lot of reasons why, but I don’t want to… gross you out with the details of my affections or anything, so… I’m just laying this out there for you to ignore if you want to. And if you think I’m disgusting or don’t want to talk to me again because… because of the reasons I want to be around you, that’s — that’s fine. I get it. Stanley doesn’t really mind as long as we don’t make noises in the other room. Oh fuck. Not that I think we’d make… noises. I’m not saying we’d  _ do  _ that, I’m just saying what he said. Like, he doesn’t care, but you might so. Either way. Fuck, I gotta stop doing this… uh… that’s about it. I’m sorry I used your birthday gift as a ploy to tell you these things. I just… wanted you to know I… I love you. And even if you don’t back, I think feeling loved is still a nice feeling, so… I hope it's a nice present, too. Even if you don’t… love me back that way… happy birthday, Eds.” _

Eddie has tears streaming down his face by the end of it. All that is left besides the unnerving silence is his own sniffling and his brain screaming  _ stupid stupid stupid!!!!! _

Months of misunderstanding. Richie waiting for Eddie to respond to a plea he never heard. Eddie telling Richie over and over that he didn’t want to leave Derry. Richie getting angry or upset or  _ something _ that made him tuck his feelings back because  _ oh god he thinks I hate him he thinks I heard his stupid fucking tape and I hate him but I fucking  _ **_love him!!_ **

“I love you, too, you stupid fuck,” Eddie cries to no one, pathetically hitting his fist against his radio and letting it flop back down to his side. The rest of his body slides down until he can rewind the tape just enough until he can hear  _ Eddie My Love _ again before he rests his head on the center console. He’s still crying as his body is overtaken by his sleep. At least the last thing he’ll hear is Richie’s declaration. At least the last thing he’ll remember is that someone fucking loves him. That  _ Richie _ loves him the way Eddie assumed he never deserved to be loved, never  _ imagined _ he could be. 

It’s haunting how many mistakes Eddie has made. If he went on living, he’d probably just make more. At least he can blink away the rising sun, letting Richie’s voice overtake him and let his last thought be a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where are the vamp-- 
> 
> don't worry! :) All in good time


	2. The Moth and the Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, weird note, but the fic title of this came from a song I like, from an artist I liked, who today I learned has just (and probably has prior, but not that I personally saw) been outed as a horrific abuser. So I don't wish to credit them, but my apologies for that... I'm gonna have to rename half my chapter titles but at least he is known and hopefully accountability will be forced on him, at the very least.
> 
> Anyway, new chapter cw/tw but they will contain spoilers so be warned://**spoilers**// suicide attempt mention, overdosing mention, post-suicide attempt guilt, threats of sexual assault on a perceived minor (the attacker fully believes Eddie to be a young child/teen), pedophilia mention, physical assault, post-sexual assault thoughts, post-sexual assault marks and body harm, description of body after sexual (and other unknown) assault, lots of panicking****//

****************************************

Dreaming is sort of an odd thing to do while you’re dying. Yet Eddie’s head is filled with strange things; cosmic pictures and endless seas, swimming with turtles and monstrous creatures in the dark. Some of these things are nightmarish and he can’t help but think what a shame it is that some of his last thoughts are so frightening. 

But the thoughts don’t stop and they’re becoming more lucid and comprehensible. _That_ certainly doesn’t happen, right? Unless Eddie’s soul is being transcended into some unworldly place. His skin feels warm, so maybe he’s in hell, which is something he almost anticipated anyway. But it doesn’t feel right that he can still _feel_ at all. As he focuses his mind to his body, he realizes he’s draped over something hard, his face pressed into something that smells of plastic. Then he realizes with an internal jolt—

He’s still in the car.

The sun is blaring down on him through the windshield and he’s having trouble opening his eyes into the blinding light. His muscles are aching as he twists his body up to straighten himself out. His neck in particular is screaming at him for the uncomfortable position he fell asleep in. There’s some drool drying on his chin that he wipes away as he finally blinks his eyes open. 

It’s taking him some time to catch up, but he’s _alive._ Relief slowly rolls through him and then the tears come. Eddie sobs as he grabs the steering wheel to ground himself, and along with the relief that he’s still alive is the shame and guilt and disbelief of knowing he almost _wasn’t._ In a bizarre way, it almost makes him angry, like he was too stupid to even kill himself correctly and now he has to suffer in his own remorse. That feels so deep he kind of wishes he _did_ succeed, but that’s beginning an endless spiral of shame between _I wish I did_ and _I’m so thankful I didn’t._

Now there’s fresh memories of the tape he listened to last night. If anything, this makes him happy — elated, almost — but it doesn’t solve all his problems. He still has to go home and deal with what he’s left behind. He’s got a whole future to prepare for now, one which (for a very long time now) he didn’t think he’d get to have.

When he’s finally calmed down, he tries to register his surroundings. It’s midday, although closer to the evening than he’d like. He must’ve slept all day through his overdose — perhaps he doesn’t take the right medications for this sort of thing. His mother’s car is completely done for. What little gas he had left in the tank burnt out in his sleep. This means he’ll have to _walk_ if he’s gonna still make it out of this, but he’s determined to do so. He’s also terribly hungry, but he wonders if his stomach is upset from all the pills in his system.

Not knowing what he’ll need to get home, Eddie grabs his backpack, stuffs the mixtape in with his empty pill bottles, and throws the bag over his shoulder. He slams the car door shut behind him as he begins his new journey. There’s not a point in taking the keys, so he leaves them. He simply thinks about getting home and hopes his feet take him wherever they need to. This hasn’t failed him before, so it’s the least of his worries; getting lost. But now he’s getting sick and thinking of the letters he left and what his friends must think of him, of what _happened_ to him, and he’s scared. He doesn’t want them to think he’s hurt.

It was stupid to assume they wouldn’t be worried. What a _terrible_ friend this made Eddie feel like, thinking his friends would just _accept_ his disappearance. Like they wouldn’t literally go searching into the depths of the earth to find him. This was selfish. They would be _hurting._ He knows all too well what that fear feels like, losing his friends like that, and he went and did this to them anyway. Hopefully now, with a clear mind, he could beg for their forgiveness and spent the rest of his life making repentance. 

Then there’s Richie. God, _Richie._ Eddie feels his eyes welling up again, but he starts laughing kind of incredulously. Richie _loves_ him, and _that_ is certainly something to come back home to. He wonders what Richie thought of the letter he left in the mailbox and how _stupid_ he thinks Eddie is. After months of silence, he’ll probably break the ice with a joke about Eddie trying to one-up his mixtape and Eddie will admit he never listened to it until now and they’ll both feel like giant idiots and then they’ll—

Then they’ll _what_ though? His mother is going to be furious over this. There’s no doubt in his mind that she’s fuming and crying and wondering where he is and making sense of the note Eddie left, which was the cruelest possible thing he could’ve left. He had simply left a post-it on her TV remote that said _I can’t take you anymore._ What an awful thing to do to her, making her live with the guilt of loving him and trying to protect him. That’s all she’s ever done and it’s sometimes too much but Eddie probably should’ve just listened to her better. He’ll have to make it up to her the best he can.

He had to fix things with his mother. He had to fix things with his friends. He had to fix things with Richie. He hopes that by doing all of that, he’d fix himself, too.

First, he needed to find a phone. _Yes._ That’s what he needs first. For some reason, numbers are escaping him. As if the distance from Derry is erasing his memories, he’s starting to have difficulty recalling phone numbers he’s known for well over a decade. Only Richie’s is clear enough in his mind, besides his own, so he thinks he’ll call Richie. That’s what he’ll do.

After much too long of Eddie running, a stitch finally begins to grow in his side. The sun is below the horizon once again, but he can see a gas station and a little plaza of closed stores just outside the woods. There’s a payphone on the side and Eddie prays that someone will be kind enough to lend him a quarter or something. There’s only one car getting gas and another parked on the side. A man stands near the payphone, too, and he’s standing so still it’s a little unnerving, but Eddie can’t be bothered by anyone else’s problems right now. 

Slowing down to a stop, Eddie is winded and is barely able to choke out, “Ex-excuse me. Can I - Can I borrow a quarter?”

“Borrow? You plan on giving it back?”

Eddie doesn’t even have time to look up at the man he’s asking before he sees the glint of metal in his peripherals. He catches it on instinct and mutters a _thank you_ before quickly jumping into the phone booth. 

Something is buzzing under Eddie’s skin as the phone rings, but it’s not quite like the anxiety he’s used to. Still, his fingers shake where they’re wrapped around the phone, his other hand tapping rhythmically on the side of the phone box until—

“Derry Morgue; you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em.”

“God, Richie you are so obnoxious,” Eddie laughs immediately, a wave of relief sweeping through him. He wants to _cry_ hearing Richie’s voice again, so happy and carefree. “Your parents let you answer the phone like that?”

“Keeps away the telemarketers and the Mormons,” Richie says, and Eddie can practically hear him grinning through the phone. “What are you up to, Spaghetti Man? Your mom is fucking _freaked.”_

“She is?” Eddie asks and his stomach drops. Well, _of course,_ she is.

“Yeah, she called and was _buggin’_ about where you were, accusing me of kidnapping you or some shit. You at Bill’s?”

“No… Have you heard from Bill? Or any of the other Losers?”

“Today? No. I spoke to you last night, been working at the video store this morning, played Sonic with Penelope until dinner, and here we are.”

“Oh, I… I left everyone something in their mailboxes. Did you get something?”

“Uhhh, no. It’s Sunday. I don’t think anyone checked their mail for anything unless you told them.”

An incredible sort of laughter bubbles out from the deep parts of Eddie’s chest. It’s something like relief and grief and sadness all rolled into one, and it has him crying even harder again. He smacks his own forehead and says, “God, I’m so stupid. It’s fucking Sunday.”

“Uh, yeah,” Richie laughs. “You ok, Eds? I know we didn’t really… talk about _stuff_ yesterday, but—”

“Richie, I need you to do me a favor. Like, a _huge_ favor and you cannot ask questions.”

There’s a pause and then, “Ok?”

“I need you to call Mike or Stan. I need them to… pick me up. I got stuck up north and my mom’s car is out of gas and I have no fucking money and I—”

“Whoawhoawhoa, slow down. You’re upstate with your mom’s car?”

“I said no questions. Please, Richie. I’ll explain later. Just please have someone with a car come pick me up and then while they do that — can you go to each Losers mailbox and take out the letters I left? Don’t read them — don’t tell anyone about them — just fucking destroy them. Do you understand?”

All Eddie can hear for a moment is his own heavy breathing, but Richie is able to give him confirmation. “Sure, Eds. Anything for you.”

That has Eddie thinking of the mixtape and it brings a sad smile to his face. “Thank you, Richie. I can’t wait to see you when I get back.”

Richie chuckles and says, “Me, too, Eds… where are you anyway?”

“Oh, shit—” Eddie turns around to look out the glass booth. The man that was standing to the side isn’t there, so Eddie can see a giant sign over by the road. “Uh, Jerusalem? I can’t tell if this plaza is called Jerusalem’s Lot or the town... I’m not far from Katahdin. I’m at a Mobil station off of… Baxter Park Road.”

 _“Katahdin?_ Why the f— right. No questions yet. Sorry. Ok, just… stay safe up there, Jesus. I’ll call them right now.”

“Thanks, Richie,” Eddie says before he hangs up. He breathes out a heavy sigh. 

His friends are coming for him. He might be able to borrow another quarter if he needs to, but for now he feels the tug of _home_ pulling him back. Guilt is slowly starting to rumble like an upset stomach again, remembering what he had tried to do last night, or rather _this morning._ It’s not fair to do that to the people he loves and he almost hates himself enough to wish he could try again, but _no._ He just needs to try and be thankful that he failed. He’s not sure why this pops into his head, but for some reason he thinks _Maybe the Turtle saved me._

But he can’t really remember what that means.

Eddie is wondering where he should wait as he’s about to turn on his heel, but that thought temporarily vanishes when someone forces themselves into the booth with him. Before he even opens his mouth or turns to them, he’s roughly shoved to the side, his body splayed against the glass with his cheek and nose pressed awkwardly into it. The body against him is strong and tall and Eddie’s nostrils are punctured by an _awful_ scent that reminds him of death and dirt and rot and makes him gag. But even gagging hurts at this angle, his neck turned awkwardly against the cold surface he’s pushed into.

“What are you—”

“You’re friends won’t be with you for quite some time…” Someone says behind him. Eddie immediately recognizes it as the person who gave him the quarter outside and is so angry at himself for not looking at their face more clearly. “You’re all alone up here. What a terrible mistake that was for you… and a joy it’s bringing me.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” Eddie growls in a pathetic attempt to shake the man off. The stranger laughs and it's cold and cruel and turns Eddie’s insides to ice. 

“I bet you taste so sweet,” he whispered, his hot breath on Eddie’s ear. Eddie tries to squirm and can practically feel the moisture from the man’s mouth licking his skin. “You’re such a pretty, delicate little thing. You’d be so fun to play with…”

Panic surges in Eddie’s chest. He thinks about all the _Stranger Danger!_ commercials and lessons from school and his mom and he thinks about _those people,_ the ones that want to hurt each other in a way only a grown up usually can. Or at least ones old enough like the Bowers gang had been when they did _those things_ to Beverly and threatened to do them to Eddie and Richie as well. So the first thing Eddie’s brain thinks is that this is a grown up and really Eddie is one, too, but he sputters out, “Please, I’m only fourteen.” Because certainly, someone wouldn’t hurt a _child,_ not like _that,_ not in that horrible, cruel way. But he realizes his mistake when the man laughs again.

“Aww, much older than I’d like,” he whispers, wrapping a cold hand around Eddie’s throat; it undulates against the man’s palm as he gulps. “But you’re just too _tempting…_ So, so pretty and innocent looking. Sweet and slender…” he growls, raking a hand up Eddie’s side along his ribs and making him whimper. “How cruel the ticking of time is; to take away your youthful beauty… But if I could have you forever looking like this…”

The man practically groans and Eddie wants to throw up, his small fingers trying to cling to the flat surface and grabbing at nothing. 

“I’m going to make you mine, inside and out… Has a pretty thing like you been touched before?” he asks as a hand dips to a place between Eddie’s legs. 

He lets out a pathetic little cry, trying to squirm away. His insides are all cold and panic, tears filling his eyes with apprehension of what will come, a fear he’s never genuinely quite felt before. “I lied. I’m eighteen. I’m eighteen, please. You don’t want me. Just please let me go.”

“I don’t think so,” the stranger says so firmly it makes Eddie shiver. 

A hand is in his hair and he lets out a yelp as he’s roughly turned around by the literal hairs on his head. He struggles, but the stranger is _strong_ and it feels like he’s putting absolutely no effort into manhandling Eddie around until he’s got his hand back around Eddie’s throat and is lifting him up. His feet dangle pathetically from above the ground, kicking the glass panel that shakes against Eddie’s back. He can’t even breathe with the grip on his throat and his head is slammed back harshly.

When Eddie finally opens his eyes — that’s it. His muscles go slack in the grip of the stranger, dangling like a carcass in a butcher’s shop, his arms dropping to his sides. All he can register before his whole mind goes blank is the darkness of the eyes staring back at him.

*******

The first thing that registers in Eddie’s mind is the softness beneath him. It’s certainly not his own bed, which is too firm for his liking. Once a familiar scent punches through his nostrils, he realizes that he’s in Richie’s room. It makes his body squirm pleasantly, turning his face into the pillow as he pulls the blankets up to his neck. He doesn’t remember coming to Richie’s, but his aching body is thankful for the privacy that his mother never would grant him. 

Last night starts coming to him in flashes. Mostly, its pain. A lot of it was stupidity on Eddie’s part. 

Running away was the worst decision he has ever made. And yes, he is confident that the trip to the sewers all those years ago was a _very_ terrible decision that should have gotten him killed, but this was worse. This time he did something reckless and _alone,_ all with his spite and anger carrying him towards his own death. 

But he _didn’t_ die, and he’s thankful, but what _did_ he do?

He ran. He ran from his mother’s car, he ran to find a phone to call Richie. He called Richie and… and…

The reason for his aching was starting to come back. Eddie’s eyes shot open and it’s so dark in Richie’s room he has to blink a few times to realize he actually succeeded in waking up. It’s still night and the lights are all off. As he turns, he starts to feel _everything._

Mostly, his arms feel fine. They’re a little achy, but the lower half of him is _screaming._ His legs — particularly his hips and thighs feel so sore and bruised up that even resting against the mattress beneath him is hurting. Rolling onto his back, Eddie lets out a hiss. His whole backside is sore. His _insides_ are sore. It’s like a stomach ache from deep within that he’s never felt before, deeper than he thinks he’s ever felt or _known_ to be possible. It feels like torn muscles and sharpened nausea and Eddie is whimpering as he tries to get out of Richie’s bed.

No one is in here with him. As his brain starts to process his surroundings, he can hear voices faintly from downstairs and sees a sliver of light coming through the bottom of Richie’s door. Every step sends a jolt of sharp pain up his spine and a dull ripple of it down his legs. He stretches his arms out in front of him like a zombie, walking straight ahead until he can fumble for Richie’s light switch and braces himself before turning it on.

The light is almost unbearable for a moment, but Eddie forces his eyes to stay open. With the light glaring down at him, every movement makes it feel like razor blades are being tossed around in his skull behind a pounding ache. He tries to focus. On the back of Richie’s door is a long mirror and Eddie stumbles until he’s in front of it. He has to stop himself from crying out when he looks at himself.

Much of his face is bruised to all hell. His right eye is swollen and so bloodshot that Eddie is sure there’s broken vessels. His bottom lip is busted, cut down the middle. Strange, small bruises are on the side of his neck and jaw; like fingertips pressed too hard into his skin. It’s difficult, but Eddie begins to strip away his torn, bloodied shirt. When his top is disposed of, he can see more of those faint little marks along his arms and what looks like a whole damn _handprint_ in the center of his chest. He lets out a sob as he lets his jeans fall to his ankles.

It’s no wonder it hurts so much. His thighs practically look _black_ from how banged up he is. These, too, look like handmarks, finger marks, and… _bite marks._ Beneath Eddie’s boxers is a thick trail of dried blood that had dripped down to the back of his knees. He’s too afraid to take his underwear off and see whatever damage is inflicted _there,_ but he’s crying and shaking so much that he sinks to his knees. It hurts, too, but everything does anyway and sitting down stops his legs from shaking so violently.

He knows exactly what these kinds of wounds mean. Whatever had happened is fighting to stay buried in the recesses of Eddie’s mind and quite frankly he wants it to _stay there._ He had been growing used to stuffing it all in, pretending things were ok when they weren’t for so long. But all these marks on his body were demanding to be seen and felt. He can’t help but feel like this is some sort of punishment for his actions last night. Horrible thoughts are plaguing him, that if he just did it right, this wouldn’t have happened, or if he was smart enough not to try at all, but maybe somehow he deserved this either way.

Eddie can hear the footsteps coming up the stairs, so he braces himself before the door is thrown open. He hates that he’s kneeling on the floor and sobbing, but _oh god oh christ what the fuck._

“Eddie…” Richie is kneeling down in front of him and it makes Eddie cry even harder because he’s so concerned and worried and Eddie _hates_ that he’s the reason Richie is so upset.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie cries shakily. “I’m sorry, Richie, I’m so sorry…”

“Hey now, cut that out,” Richie says softly. He leans down and tucks his arms under Eddie’s to pull him up. Eddie is terrified of standing again, but Richie is able to gently pull him up and carefully hold Eddie against him around the waist, keeping his weight off of his own legs. “Mom and Dad are up. We wanted you to sleep it off before we took you back to the doctor…”

“Back?”

“Yeah, your… your mom was in the hospital lobby throwing a fit, and she’s your healthcare proxy I guess, so Dad said she might have the ability to tell the doctors what to do until you were awake. He just wanted you to make those choices yourself.”

Eddie sniffled and turned his head so he wasn’t blowing snot into Richie’s shirt. He couldn’t help but rest his temple against Richie’s collarbone. “Richie, I don’t know what happened to me… I can’t remember…”

Richie’s arms stiffen around Eddie’s waist. Eddie is trying to focus on the sound of Richie’s heartbeat in his ear and it’s soothing when Richie lifts his hand to stroke Eddie’s hair. They haven’t been this physically affectionate in quite some time. Frankly, the circumstances could be better.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie cries again, clutching the back of Richie’s shirt.

“Don’t be sorry, Eds… Do you want me to get my parents?”

Eddie nodded against Richie’s chest. Richie pressed his hand against Eddie’s ear and loudly called downstairs for his parents to come up. As gently as he could, Richie helped ease Eddie back over to the bed. After briefly glancing at the clock on Richie’s nightstand, he saw it was nearly six in the morning and he groaned audibly at the revelation. 

It hurt too much to sit properly at all, so Richie helped Eddie sink his head and torso down before carefully sliding his legs up on the mattress, letting Eddie rest on his side. Now that he was laying back down, he wasn’t sure how he’d get up again.

“Eddie,” Maggie cooed the second she walked in, rushing over to him. Eddie’s heart swelled with affection when she knelt down and placed a hand on his head. “Oh, baby, we need to get him to the hospital…”

“I don’t want to push him, Ma…” Richie mumbled sheepishly. 

“How did I get here?” Eddie managed to ask.

Maggie and Richie exchanged looks. She gestured or him to explain while she helped Eddie sit up and at least try to drink some water she brought up.

“Well, by the time Mike was ready to go, I had already — you know, done what you asked me to do,” Richie said cryptically, his eyes darting to his mother in hopes that she wouldn’t ask him to elaborate. “So I figured I’d go with him and come get you, and so then _all_ of us decided to go…”

“You all found me like this?” Eddie cried softly with embarrassment.

“Well, we looked around the place you told us and we saw the phone booth and Stan pointed out the blood, so we… we figured something happened. Then we… we found you back up in the woods. Bill and Ben were able to track you down. Your, uh… Stan found your clothes,” Richie added, his entire face reddening. “I couldn’t… he and Bill helped get you dressed so we could get you in the truck. We tried taking you to a hospital up there, but everywhere was, like…”

“Bizarre,” Maggie said softly. “As if they couldn’t even understand why they would need one.”

“No one would help us, so we just brought you back home,” Richie continued, sitting on the edge of the bed near Eddie’s feet. “Then Dad came to bring you to the hospital, and I already told you your mom was there…”

“You’re not going back to that woman’s house,” Maggie said firmly. “You’ll stay here for a little bit, ok sweetie?” she added more pleasantly, raking her fingers through Eddie’s dirty hair.

All of his friends found him like this. His mother was still looking for him. This wasn't something he could just bury away and forget about now. The next few hours, days, _weeks_ even, were going to be quite difficult to navigate. There’s no strength in Eddie’s body, not physically, not mentally, and he’s not sure if he can even muster the ability to get out of this bed. He doesn’t think it’s possible to be this exhausted.

But then he looks up and sees Richie looking down at him. His expression is unbecoming of him, the deep concern and anguish etched on his beautiful face, all on Eddie’s behalf. And _that_ hurt the most, seeing Richie like this, thinking about how Richie would be if he knew what Eddie had gone up there to do; what he’d look like if Eddie had succeeded. But as much as that hurts, it also gives him just a little bit of strength back to move forward and find a way to take that look off of Richie’s face and never see it again.

“I want to go to the hospital now.”

***

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hesitate to let me know what you think so far, I'm a slut for attention and love to hear readers thoughts <3


	3. With a Gluttonous Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In the corners of the darkness  
> Bad luck has lingered  
> And now comes forth  
> With a gluttonous mind"  
> Royal City-Bad Luck
> 
> New chapter cw/tw but they will contain spoilers so be warned://**spoilers**//aftermath of assault/sexual assault, dissociating, description of injuries, suicide attempt mention, internalized guilt, suicide attempt by hanging description, homophobic slurs, mention of vomit, allusions to past eating disorder (unhealthy eating and starvation, forced vomiting), allusions to victim blaming, panic attack, blood, blood drinking, self-harm ****//

****************************************

Just after stepping foot inside the emergency room, Eddie already wants to go back to Wentworth’s car. The hospital is bright and all too familiar, but Eddie doesn’t want this kind of familiar. He wants to go back to two minutes ago when the bad thoughts were leaking away, his head on Richie’s lap in the backseat and sipping a Capri Sun that Maggie insisted he drink. He’s still clutching onto it like some kind of safety net, the thin straw tucked between his teeth despite the pouch being emptied halfway through the trip. 

If they’re going to do a thorough  _ kit _ he has to do it alone and Eddie doesn’t like that one bit. When he’s told this, his hand immediately grips onto Richie’s and it pains him more than his bruises to let it slip out of his fingers soon after. So he tries to think about the mixtape again and that silly little thing plays in his head like a broken record. He’s so good at tuning everything out as he ruminates over it that he can’t even notice how much he’s shivering until a nurse gives him a blanket.

Immediately brought back to life, Eddie pulls the itchy, thin fabric tightly around his shoulders. He can feel how much he’s blushing everywhere because of how naked he’s been. Everywhere; everything;  _ we want to collect as much as possible. _

They won’t give him back his clothes, but Maggie was kind enough to have prepared for this to give him some of Richie’s. He’s given an option to rinse off, which he gladly takes advantage of so that he doesn’t have to get blood in Richie’s boxers. The tears keep threatening to spill again as he cleans himself, but he feels like a spent roll of toothpaste, everything squeezed out of him. As gentle as he is with the luffa they’ve given him, he flinches when his thigh stings as his fingers graze little marks on his skin. They’re like two little puncture marks, like a large spider bite. 

Eddie doesn’t want to think about what those could possibly be from. All sorts of horrible things go through his mind about what was done to him while he was blacked out. Then again, they had found him in the woods. It was probably from some sort of animal.

At some point, Eddie asks about Richie, but Wentworth tells him that Richie had to go outside. Probably for a cigarette, Eddie thinks. Richie smokes when he’s stressed, even if it’s something he tries to laugh off. But there’s something about the way Wentworth says it that makes Eddie more upset than he already is. He wanted Richie to be with him when they asked him all the questions he didn’t want to think about. It’s equally embarrassing as it is comforting for Maggie or Wentworth to be there instead, so he chooses to do it alone. He can’t remember the meat of the story, anyway.

His stomach has been hurting since the car ride — no, definitely longer than that. But it’s been particularly gurgly and upset and Wentworth chalks it up to Eddie not having eaten anything before being given the little pouch of juice. He  _ still _ doesn’t want to eat and he’s got the hospital blanket still, draped over him on the entire car ride back to Richie’s house. The sun is up and Eddie’s head is pounding against the heat waves beating down through the car window. The hospital gave him medicine until Maggie could pick up his prescriptions at the pharmacy, but the pain doesn’t seem to dissipate.

No one seemed to mind that Eddie wanted to shower again. It was weird, not going to his house, but it felt like home here and it was certainly much more relaxing than the hospital had been. There’s no window in the downstairs bathroom, so Eddie requests to use that one. It makes it much easier to shower in here with the lights completely off. Without having to see his body like this, he can almost forget.

Almost.

Someone left him another fresh set of clothes, comfortable pajamas to wear back in Richie’s bedroom. Penelope had been kind enough to change Richie’s bed sheets while they were out. It sends a pang of guilt in Eddie’s chest, even though he hadn’t chosen to sleep in Richie’s bed last night.

There’s not a lot of things quite as unnerving as a quiet Richie Tozier. It makes things seem like a dream and Eddie is so dizzy with nausea and pain and exhaustion that he almost thinks it might be. Richie quietly helps Eddie up the stairs to the bedroom and, just as he did before, helps him into the mattress.

“Can you do something about the blinds?” Eddie can’t help but ask. “The sun is making me feel sick…”

“Oh. Sure,” Richie says, quickly running over to grab a giant poster board from behind his dresser. It’s an old school project that Richie saved so that he could block out sunlight on mornings he wanted to sleep in; it fit perfectly between the wooden panel sides of the window. It’s not completely black in the room with some sunlight peeking through the sides, but Eddie already feels calmer in the darkness. “Better?”

“Much,” Eddie sighs, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “What are you going to do today?” The way he asks it is so casual, like some of the most horrific things Eddie has ever experienced hadn’t just happened. Pretending that they didn’t felt like an option Eddie preferred.

“I had work,” Richie admits quietly, taking a seat on the floor in front of Eddie with his legs criss-crossed. “But I’m going to call out sick.”

“Richie, I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Eds. I’m not leaving you. I’ll, like,  _ leave _ if you want, like go downstairs so you have some privacy, but I won’t be going anywhere.”

There’s a heavy silence between in which Eddie wants to argue, but he knows Richie is too stubborn and too kind to leave. He’s surprised the other Losers aren’t barging through the door, but Maggie is probably putting a stop to that for Eddie’s sake. 

“I don’t remember anything,” Eddie tells Richie quietly. “Honest to god, I don’t remember a thing.”

“It’s ok, Eds,” Richie says very quietly. “I wouldn’t want to remember something like that, either.”

“I don’t want to deal with it anymore. I should’ve just taken a shower. The cops won’t take it seriously, anyway. They never do in Derry.”

“The medicine will help,” Richie offers. “Even if you don’t want to… find out who did this, you’re still in pain. You’re hurt, Eds.”

“I can deal with it,” Eddie mumbles, feeling a tinge of guilt when he thinks of his mother; but Richie isn’t like that. He’ll back away if Eddie pushes him enough. 

“I know you can. No one can outmatch the outstanding courage of Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Eddie wants to smile, but Richie still looks sullen, and Eddie just feels…  _ dull. _ Hollow. He wants to rest this all away but he’s not ready to leave the comfort of Richie in exchange for whatever nightmares might plague him in his sleep.

“You think my mom will come by?” Eddie asks quietly after a moment.

“Probably… I mean, I get it. She  _ should _ be worried. But she…  _ you _ need a break from her right now. That’s going to be too much for you right now to deal with.”

“Is that your professional analysis, Dr. T?”

Something almost like a smile flashes on Richie’s face, but his expression falls back to his sad demeanor. “Eds, can I ask you something?”

That makes Eddie nervous and his chest flutters a little unpleasantly, but he says, “Shoot.”

“Don’t be upset,” Richie prefaces. “I don’t — I’m  _ not  _ saying any of this is your fault, because it’s not,  _ at all. _ Even if you walked into town buck-naked with a sign that said ‘Come and get it,’ the second you told someone to fuck off they should’ve—”

“Rich,” Eddie interrupts, feeling his stomach tighten. “Please get to the point.”

“Sorry,” Richie mumbles. He takes a deep breath and then,  _ “Why?” _

Eddie blinks a few times before he realizes Richie’s question is not for Eddie’s previous request; he was asking Eddie why this happened; why Eddie was up in the boondocks of Maine all by himself. “You answer my question first.”

“What question?”

“Why did you leave the hospital?” Eddie asks, and his voice kind of breaks a little pathetically. “I hated doing all of that by myself.”

Even in the darkness, Eddie can tell Richie’s cheeks blush and his face actually looks  _ angry. _

“They told me to leave. I threatened one of the doctors.”

_ “Threatened?” _

“Please don’t make me elaborate.”

“Then I won’t either.”

“Eddie,” Richie groaned.

“Richie, just tell me.”

“Because he called you a faggot!” Richie harshly whispered. “I heard him tell some nurse you were probably just some fag whore that was out for dick and was gonna spread AIDS all over the hospital! So I fucking — I just saw  _ red _ and then my dad had to stop me from pummeling him, but I said some — equally unpleasant things to him I can’t really remember and they threw me outside.”

Eddie should’ve expected something like that. In fact, he was quite surprised no one said it to his  _ face _ while he was being examined. Then again, he had dissociated so much that they probably could’ve been slapping him and he wouldn’t have noticed. It doesn’t make him angry, though, not like how Richie is probably feeling. It just makes him feel empty and  _ dirty, _ like some kind of untouchable. 

“I guess that makes sense,” is all Eddie can think to say. 

This makes Richie look up at him incredulously, his head cocked to the side like Eddie just grew a second head. “Makes  _ sense?” _

“Richie, it’s what half this town has been saying about me for years. Our high school said it to my face, but I’m sure plenty of adults think it when they see me.”

“That doesn’t fucking make it ok.”

“I didn’t say it did, Rich… please keep your voice down.”

At Eddie’s request, Richie’s demeanor softens just a bit, now looking at Eddie quite sadly. “I don’t want you to think those things about yourself, Eddie. I don’t care whether or not you’re… if you  _ are,  _ you know? It doesn’t make it ok for you to think that stuff…”

“I know, Rich. I’m ok. Well…”  _ Maybe not completely ok. _ He doesn’t offer Richie any knowledge about whether or not those things  _ were _ true. Not yet. Eddie still has to answer Richie’s question. “You promise you won’t tell the other Losers I told you this? The reason I went up there?”

“Promise,” Richie says immediately, perking his head up attentively. 

“Especially not Bill.”

“Why not Bill?”

“Does it matter if you’re not going to tell anyone?”

“Then why are you singling out Bill?”

“God, Richie, just…” Eddie groans and pulls his hand up from underneath the comforter to rub his tired eyes. “Promise?”

“I promise, Eds.”

So Eddie took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if he could look Richie in the eyes or not, but it was worth a try. At least it was dark and most of Richie’s irises were blocked out by a tiny bit of glare on his lenses. He won’t be able to see the hurt in Richie’s eyes when he tells him.

Except, just when he’s about to open his mouth, he realizes he may not have to.

“Is this about the letters?” Richie asks quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest. His body is so lanky, he looks almost silly trying to curl up into himself like this.

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “You got rid of them, right?”

“Most.”

“Most?” Eddie intones.

“Technically,” Richie starts sheepishly. “You only asked me to do it with the other’s letters. You specifically asked me to get the  _ other  _ Losers letters so… I kept mine.”

“Did you… read it?”

“My mom did.”

“Your  _ MOM?” _ Eddie practically shouts, sitting up much too quickly in the bed. Pain shoots up his back and through his insides like a hot poker being jammed through him.

“Shhh! Calm down! I had a feeling I knew what it was going to say and I just… couldn’t bear to read something like that, Eds…”

“What did you think it was?” Eddie asks carefully. 

Richie just looks so uncomfortable, pinching the bunches of his jeans and shaking his leg nervously. “I thought it was… I thought it was goodbye.”

Eddie thinks about that, thinks about Richie just saying he couldn’t  _ bear _ to read something like that and it breaks Eddie’s heart in two. Shame slithers its way back into him like it’s weaving through his ribs and squeezing his insides. He feels like he wants to cry again, but maybe he just can’t anymore. “Richie, I’m sorry.”

“S’ok,” Richie mumbles, wiping a tear from his cheek Eddie hadn’t noticed until just then. “I’m just sorry we couldn’t… that we weren’t enough to stop you from wanting to do that.”

“Richie, that has nothing to do with it.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because I  _ need _ you to know that. You’re the only reason I’m glad I didn’t go through with it.” And it’s partially a lie, because he  _ tried, _ but he thinks his effort to get back home counts for  _ something. _ And he also wanted to see his mother and he also wanted to see the rest of their friends, but whatever light Richie shone radiated that spark back in Eddie. That  _ love _ he felt from Richie. Those years of pining like fucking  _ idiots,  _ which Eddie still can’t believe he never interpreted correctly before. Even if it were platonic, Richie cared about him so fucking much. He  _ needed _ Richie to feel all the love he had for him and he  _ needed _ Richie to show him that love back without the mask of teasing and pretense. “What did your mom tell you about the letter?”

Richie wringed his hands together awkwardly around his ankles. “Her exact words were…  _ ‘Go get that boy.’  _ It was weird how she said it, but I guess she was just happy you called to tell us you needed help.”

Despite all the pain coursing in his body, Eddie couldn’t help but smile.  _ Go get that boy. _ No conversion camps. No punishments. No judgement. No threats. No shaming. Maggie had nothing but encouragement for whatever the fuck he and Richie were trying to accomplish together. That thought is so  _ warm _ but it’s so unfamiliar that the colder part of Eddie’s heart challenges it and reminds him how his mother reacted just at the  _ notion… _

What a terrible thing for a mother to do; love her son so deeply that the threat of deviation  _ disgusted her. _

Not with Maggie, though. Not with Maggie…

The silence is so incredibly  _ loud, _ buzzing in Eddie’s ears, that he almost doesn’t hear Richie when he speaks again. His voice is so quiet, Eddie isn’t sure how it carries itself all the way to where he’s laying on the bed.

“I tried, you know… to do that.”

“To…? Oh. Oh,  _ Richie…” _

“I’m better now,” Richie says softly. “But I know how… how empty that place feels. I’m sorry that you had to be there, too, Eds…”

“How?” Eddie asks, and he’s startled by his own question, knowing how  _ rude  _ and invasive that is. But Richie doesn’t seem to mind.

“I tried to hang myself. Which, realistically, is pretty damn stupid. I mean, I guess I’ve seen people do it without actually…  _ dangling _ or anything, but every time my feet touched the ground, I felt a pull back down to it and finally got myself out. I guess my growth spurt last year paid off,” he chuckles awkwardly. 

“Where did you do it?” Eddie whispers almost inaudibly. 

“The closet there,” Richie says, offhandedly jabbing his thumb towards the door behind him. “I can’t imagine what my mom would’ve been like if I had gone through with it. I mean,  _ Christ, _ the look on her face when she saw how badly  _ you _ were hurt… she never would’ve forgave herself. Which, honestly, really sucks because I have the best parents in the world, you know? They didn’t deserve to think they did anything to make me do that. It just… I couldn’t really remember at the time. Nothing good felt real enough to matter.”

“I know I’m asking like twenty questions, but… when did you do this?” Eddie asks carefully.

Richie purses his lips tightly. “Thanksgiving. Well, the day after, when my family went shopping.”

Eddie processes this and a cold, upsetting realization hits up. Thanksgiving was just over  _ three weeks _ after Eddie’s birthday. Was Richie so ashamed or heartbroken or  _ something _ over Eddie’s false rejection that he would do such a thing? Eddie had thought he would never be happy, never enjoy a life without love and his friends and acceptance. Had he been the one to put those feelings in Richie’s head?

Then, as if reading Eddie’s tired mind, Richie reaches over and gently places his hand on Eddie’s; Eddie loosens his grip on the comforter, unable to stop himself from grabbing Richie’s hand back. “It wasn’t your fault,” Richie says immediately. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I was just too drowned out by the lies in my head. They didn’t say anything good and I was stupid enough to believe them.”

“You’re not stupid. Well, sometimes, but for vastly different reasons.”

Richie chuckles pretty genuinely and he scoots forward until he can rest his chin on the edge of the mattress, just inches from Eddie’s face. “Always keeping me in my place, Kaspbrak.”

“Your place is here with me,” Eddie says. It sounds a little corny and he’s startled again, not knowing where the bravery of that comes from. Richie seems surprised, too, his eyebrows raising above his frames so high that his glasses slip down his nose a little. “My place is here with you. We won’t be stupid again, ok?”

“Ok, Spaghetti,” Richie smiles. 

And like he’s drunk, like he has no control over his own actions, as if the last twenty-four hours never happened and his life doesn’t feel absolutely  _ shattered _ — Eddie lifts their hands up to his face, rolling them until he can place a gentle kiss on Richie’s knuckles. They’re dry and cracked and Eddie almost wants to yell at him for not using enough moisturizer, but Richie is smiling so brightly at him that his mind goes blank. 

“Stay with me?”

Richie seems to be pondering something for just a moment, calculating something in his head. Then, he pulls their hands up to his own lips and reciprocates the gesture, leaving a soft kiss on Eddie’s skin. “Anything for you, Eds.”

*******

There’s too much.

Eddie just wants to stay under the blankets in Richie’s bedroom and sleep, but now he needs to do  _ everything. _ There’s medicine to take, therapy —  _ therapy?! _ — that Maggie is suggesting, legal issues that Wentworth is trying to explain, and Eddie just wants to fucking  _ sleep. _

His sleep schedule is abysmal, and he must be sick with something, because he feels like he’s running a fever after just a day being with the Tozier’s. He  _ thinks _ it’s a fever until the thermometer tells him his temperature is closer to 96 than anything, but he just figures the thing is old and malfunctioning. He’s got no appetite and he’s explaining that it’s because he feels sick, but they just keep telling him he’s sick because he’s not eating.

It’s not difficult to understand their concerns. Eddie has always been a tad  _ odd _ about his food. His mother always hand picked his meals and he felt guilty eating anything she never approved of. The best tasting things were always eaten with shame. Sometimes he had gone quite a while without eating, too. If his mother thought he was getting sick, she’d simply have him drink broth and fluids until she deemed him better. Wentworth muttered something about  _ neglect _ and Eddie couldn’t help but feel hostile when he heard him say this; he refused to talk to Went for many hours after. 

“Eddie, what  _ have _ you eaten?” Maggie tries to ask him gently. 

“Richie made me eggs,” Eddie mumbles.

“And you ate them?” she pries a little.

“Yeah, but I got sick. My stomach is upset and I might have caught something in the woods…”

“Ok, Eddie, but… did you…  _ make _ yourself sick?”

“What?  _ No. _ I swear!”

He can understand why she’d ask that, considering what Richie has probably told her. After his mother had forced him to vomit several times on purpose, his stomach became very sensitive. It was as if it had anticipated being forced to relieve itself of food and Eddie sometimes found himself feeling incredibly nauseous. Only to calm his nerves, he’d make himself throw up sometimes after lunch so that it would stop making him feel so queasy. It wasn’t until Stan caught him doing it and told Richie and Bill that Eddie finally stopped. Embarrassment alone seemed to be enough to strengthen his gut, even if he still had a painful relationship with food. It had been years since then, but Maggie still looked concerned.

“I promise I didn’t do it on purpose,” Eddie assures her again. “I can ask the doctor today if he recommends anything to help me keep food down.”

This seems to calm her down because she leaves him alone and stops fretting until Richie finally drops Eddie off at a new doctor’s office. Richie has work, but Eddie is getting tests and exams done and it will probably take an hour, anyway. So Mike agreed to pick him up with Bill and Eddie is getting nervous about seeing them, but he tries to relax. 

“I promise I’ll try to get out as soon as I can,” Richie tells Eddie as he’s getting out of Richie’s mint Daewoo. 

They haven’t really  _ talked _ yet, but Eddie has been so miserable and broken, he’s not ready to glue those pieces back together with Richie. He’s slightly terrified of trauma bonding and building the beginnings of a real, possible relationship off of something so horrific — either his suicide attempt or the attack (which he refuses to call anything else). There might not be a point in him waiting for something  _ good, _ since his luck never quite worked out that way, but he was at least busy enough to keep him patient. Besides, Richie definitely wasn’t going anywhere. They had all just graduated the weekend before, but there were weeks before any of them would be moving.

“Richie, it’s fine,” Eddie says gently. “Mike and Bill can always hang out with me if I feel the need to socialize.”

“Ok, just… don’t hesitate to call the store, ok?” Richie asks him. “If you need anything.”

“If I need anything,” Eddie smiles at him. “I lo—” His mouth almost slips out the words that have been ruminating in his head and he quickly catches it before Richie notices. “I’ll see you at home, ok?”

“Home,” Richie laughs, which has Eddie smiling even brighter. “Yeah. I’ll see ya later, Eds.”

Every time Eddie is in the light he feels sick. He’s not sure what it is about the sun, but he feels like he’s dragging his feet all the way into the clinic. The fluorescent lights aren’t much better, but it’s not as painful. He can stand up a little straighter and not feel so ill. He can’t help but wonder if he’s actually developed an allergy to the UV lights, since he’s been so absent of sunlight for so many months while he finished his school work and planned his attempted demise. He can probably ask his new doctor for something, but he figures he can just load up on sunscreen.

The doctor isn’t someone Eddie is familiar with. Wentworth thought it was best not to send Eddie back to his pediatrician, where his mother might find him. Eddie also does what Wentworth told him to do and asked that none of his information at this new place be shared with  _ anyone. _ It was strangely empowering to practice that level of privacy. Still, he’s nervous and he’s seeing this new doctor for the first time after the  _ attack _ and everything still hurts and he’s terrified now, thinking of all the things Richie repeated from the doctor at the hospital.

To Eddie’s surprise, this doctor is not only comforting, he’s openly  _ encouraging. _ When Eddie gets his welcome packet (another odd thing to him, having been with the same doctor since he was born), it’s full of referral lists, linkages to outpatient care, and some kind of treatment Eddie has never heard of before.

“What’s… LGBT?” Eddie asks near the end of his visit. “Is that a kind of therapy?’

Dr. Whittel chuckles, shaking his head. “No, that’s… it stands for the Lesbian, Gay, and uh…  _ whatever else _ community, Mr. Kaspbrak. I’m not surprised it hasn’t been taught to you before.”

“There’s a  _ community?”  _ Eddie asks, astounded. He also doesn’t know what the BT stands for, but he’s intrigued. 

“Somewhat… but there’s some good information in there that isn’t riddled with horseshit, I’m sure,” Dr. Whittel says bluntly. Eddie reels back at that statement a little bit, not used to such language in a doctor’s office. 

A thought occurs to him and Eddie gently questions, “How did you know?”

“Is that not… how this happened?” Dr. Whittel gestures to Eddie’s lower half vaguely, and Eddie can feel his cheeks turn pink.

“No… I didn’t… ask for this.”

“I didn’t say you did,” the doctor says offhandedly. “Sometimes it happens on dates, you know.”

Eddie isn’t quite sure if he really likes this doctor or not now, a mixture of feelings bubbling inside of him. He presented Eddie with information he’s not entirely informed about himself and has already made some odd statements. But at least he’s being informative and not dismissive and provided Eddie with sexual education he never realized existed. “Thank you,” he mutters. “Actually, uh, before I forget…”

One thing Eddie made sure to bring with him were his pill bottles. They’re empty, of course, since Eddie had swallowed them all in one go. But he’s hoping this doctor won’t look at any dates and just assume Eddie is up for a refill and send a new script to the pharmacy. So he hands over the bottles, but Dr. Whittel looks confused and even concerned when he’s reading them. When he excuses himself from the room, Eddie is left pretty damn confused himself.

Not sure what he’s waiting for, Eddie looks down at his legs beneath his gown. His thighs are still nearly blackened and sore, with nasty yellows blossoming around the edges of the bruises . It hurts even sitting. The suppository caps soothed him just the tiniest bit, but everything still aches, most of it from too deep within. He also hasn’t really eaten properly since before his overdose and his stomach has been churning nonstop. It’s a strange sort of pang; not quite hunger or ache, but definitely  _ demanding, _ although Eddie isn’t quite sure what for.

Dr. Whittel comes back after quite some time and there’s a look on his face that Eddie can’t quite discern, but it unnerves him. Eddie’s brain immediately screams in panic, that this doctor is going to tell Eddie he’s  _ dying,  _ that these pills are the only thing keeping him from rotting and becoming septic and Eddie can’t help but dig his nails into his bruised skin in anticipation of what he’s going to be told. But what he’s expecting is not what he’s about to hear, and yet it’s like a strange deja vu is overcoming him.

“Eddie, do you know where you get these pills?”

“Keene’s,” Eddie says immediately. 

“Have you picked them up there yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware these aren’t real prescription labels?”

“I— what?”

“These aren’t prescription bottles,” Dr. Whittel said, looking over at Eddie like a cornered, feral cat. “I called your old doctor and he said he didn’t give you any prescriptions. I called Keene and he said that he had just been giving your mother some things that she asked for, things that wouldn’t harm you. I don’t see how they  _ can, _ since all of these medications are made up.”

Eddie continues to stare, blinking slowly as he tries to assess this information. “What… do you mean… made up? Are they— they’re fake?”

“Essentially,” Dr. Whittel says slowly. “It doesn’t really seem like they’re anything you needed. That doesn’t mean you can’t still  _ withdraw  _ from them, whatever you were told these pills might  _ do.  _ But placebos are just sugar pills.”

Placebos… 

_ They’re gazebos! They’re bullshit! _

There’s some words exchanged between the two of them, but Eddie can’t process them. He excuses himself to use the restroom and he doesn’t even take his shoes. He’s already hyperventilating before he’s got the door closed behind him.

How did he forget? Had the clown incident somehow distorted his memory? Was it just wishful thinking? Was he clinging onto some hope that his mother had changed? Was he foolish enough to think Greta Keene had more sinister intentions than his mother, tricking him once upon a time into thinking his pills were all useless?

All those years being forced to rely on them. All that suffering to make sure he was taking them. All for  _ sugar pills. _

Eddie’s stomach is churning again as he grips the side of the sink, staring down into the center of the porcelain. It’s not hunger or pain. It’s  _ rage. _ He’s feeling more disgusted in his mother than he thinks he could feel for the stranger he met in the booth. Something grotesque is boiling in his gut and rising through his veins like steam. There’s a pain lodged in there deep, like an ill-tempered tapeworm slithering it’s way through his insides and eating into his thoughts. An angry sob escapes him and he leans into the crook of his arm so stifle the sound of it. 

Whatever is inside of him is alive and it’s like a roaring fire blistering his skin from the inside. It’s not something he’s felt in so long he can’t quite form the word in his mind but he knows, he  _ knows,  _ this is  _ hate.  _

What purpose was there to serve from this except to control him and make him suffer? What kind of mother lets her son think he’s so sick he can’t get better? Had it been in the best interest of her  _ delicate _ child to have him think he was sick rather than to really get sick? When Eddie had always suspected he may not have been delicate at all, she had been there to remind him that he  _ was, _ but  _ was he? _ Thinking he needed her made him so goddamn easy to control. 

The reality of why he couldn’t kill himself sends a ripple of heat through him which bursts out in another sob.  _ You can’t overdose on bullshit. _

Eddie can’t tell how long he’s leaning over the sink and crying into his arm, but a strange calm washes over him. The anger is still burning and crumbling parts of him into ashes, but it’s a serene sort of rage. Even his stomach ceases to ache and warmth like hot lava spills into it. It feels him up and helps tighten the storm inside him into a fine point. It solidified into a concrete form deep within, clustered and concentrated, burying itself like a seed. Something he wants to grow into him, root into his veins and give him strength to act out on a tiny, powerful thought that starts to manifest in his mind.

_ Kill her. _

The sudden harsh cruelty brings him back to his senses and Eddie lets out a gasp. That hot lava spills down his chin and he realizes that it’s not a metaphorical manifestation of his thoughts. It’s something  _ real _ and he looks down in confusion to where his face had been in the crook of his arm. 

There, just above the inside of his elbow are tiny punctures, like the ones he found on his thigh. Blood is gently trickling and he reaches up to his chin and feels it dripping down his lips. He can’t register the rusty taste, he can’t feel the usual disgust, but it almost — it almost tastes —  _ sweet.  _ His eyes dare to look up at himself in the mirror and his heart seizes in his chest. 

Shiny, burgundy blood is spilling from his chin — his own blood. His own blood he just  _ drank.  _

He had heard of such a thing before. Desperate stories of starvation and trauma. The body craving such raw nutrients. People doing whatever they could to survive. In a moment of heartache, shock, and the healing of his trauma, Eddie subconsciously sought for something he had been depriving himself of. He hadn’t eaten anything, so his body was beginning to quite literally eat himself. 

He’s had to eat his own vomit before at the hands of his mother; why not his own blood?

Through his reflection he could see there was something in him, something that was… pure  _ horror. _ Everything you were supposed to watch out for. Heights, fires, snakes, diseases… Everything that his mother tried so hard to keep him safe from. Something akin to the man who had attacked him; a  _ monster. _

It wasn’t anything he could see on his flesh or even from the blood pouring down his face. The evil was there in his eyes, reflecting back that monstrous thought he conjured from his anger. A blood lust beyond breaking his own skin. For the first time in his life he had sincerely wished to harm his own mother and make her suffer. 

Eddie looks down at himself and what he’s become over the years over her influence and the shame of that evil is suppressed by this new, powerful anger. He’s breathing heavily, he’s  _ seething. _

Eddie catches one last look at his black eyes in the mirror before thrusting his fist into the glass. 


	4. I'm a Creep, I'm a Weirdo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate name for this chapter: Eddie Kaspbrak's Extreme Denial  
> Also, I have a tentative map of Derry saved, but I don't think we're ever really made aware of where some of the Loser's houses are (besides Bill, Beverly and Mike's) so I'm just winging it for the story-telling.
> 
> ty for the lovely comments, I hope you continue to enjoy this fic<3 if there's anything additional that needs to be tagged don't hesitate to ask
> 
> New chapter cw/tw; contains spoilers so be warned://**spoilers**//dissociation, self-harm (self blood drinking), mentions of vomit, pica, trauma responses, continued aftermath of sexual assault and attempted suicide, brief description of sexual assault, blood drinking from live animal, animal death ****//

************************

When Eddie was done with the appointment, after profusely apologizing about the broken mirror, he walked alone to the Tozier household and called Bill to inform them that he just wasn’t feeling well enough to see anyone yet. The only person Eddie was able to manage was Richie, who already knew so much and was being quite considerate of Eddie’s needs.

Besides, it was never lost on Eddie that Bill and Stan had been the ones to  _ redress _ Eddie after they found him. The thought makes his skin flush furiously, but he tries to stuff those thoughts away as he prepares to see them again. He wants to see all of his friends and he wants things to be normal. Forget about the fact that he ditched Bill and Mike after they were supposed to pick him up last week from the doctors office. Forget the fact that he spent way too long in the bathroom then, cleaning out blood from his mouth and the sink. Forget about the fact that he drank his own blood from his arm.

Sometimes Richie could be a lot for Eddie to handle, but he had been much more quiet than Eddie was used to. He wasn’t sure if it was just because of the incident or because they had spent so many months ignoring each other, Richie had somehow calmed down or was trying to make up for their broken friendship. Neither of them had mentioned the mixtape or the letter (which Eddie isn’t sure Richie has read or not yet) but Eddie can’t help but scoot close to Richie in the middle of the night and wrap his lithe arm around Richie’s waist. The closeness makes Eddie feel safe. Warm. Happy. Richie doesn’t mind Eddie nuzzling the back of his neck or burying his face between Richie’s shoulder blades. He doesn’t comment on it, either, but Eddie knows it’s just because he’s being careful after what Eddie had been through.

Eddie wants that to stop. He’s sick of being treated like something  _ happened _ to him, even though it did. He doesn’t want Richie to treat him like he’s delicate. He doesn’t want Richie to think he’s  _ broken _ because of this. Now that he knows how Richie feels, Eddie wants to feel relief, but all he is now is  _ scared _ that despite all those feelings, Richie will be too terrified to want to be with Eddie  _ like that. _ Not that Eddie hasn’t been scared of that before; he’s not familiar with sex as much as Richie surely is, but he was willing to  _ try.  _

So he  _ tells  _ Richie to treat him like normal, but it’s hard when Eddie can’t keep any food down still and Richie seems worried that Eddie might be doing it on purpose. Eddie was finally able to hold his food down for long enough periods of time that Richie stopped pestering him about it, but that  _ may _ have been the least of Eddie’s worries.

See, he really  _ did _ try to forget about chomping down on his own arm at his doctor’s office. The problem was that he  _ didn’t stop. _ Any time Eddie started to feel faint and feverish from his lack of food, he’d find himself in the bathroom slurping on his own blood like a goddamn slushie. Most remarkable was how after doing this just twice, his body scars and marks seemed to just… vanish.

All except for the tiny puncture wounds on his thigh.

Drinking from his arm wasn’t a fix-all, however. While it seemed to give him some temporary strength and heal him up quickly, it would make him feel dizzy, a strange haze not unlike the time Richie shared his pot brownies with the Losers for Homecoming — minus all the fun, giggly bits that Eddie  _ liked _ about that stuff. It made Eddie feel spacey and lethargic, so he needed to find another way to make himself feel better. But why the hell was he drinking his blood in the first place?

He probably had pica. He had read about that happening, developing strange cravings for things you weren’t supposed to eat. Sometimes it was genetic or from a mental illness, but Eddie also read it could come from trauma. Which, he is reluctant to say, is something he has too much of. He was bound to get some weird fucking habits eventually, probably. Drinking his blood probably wasn’t the worst thing. Probably.

After several days of still feeling feverish, Eddie figured his illness had finally passed. He was positive that it was some sort of infection he received from up in the woods. That’s what he kept telling Maggie and Went. They wouldn’t give him antibiotics, but he sure is positive that that’s what he had. Richie thinks Eddie feels too  _ cold _ to be feverish, but he’s probably just clammy and Richie’s hands are always too hot, anyway.

Eddie doesn’t think he’s going to tell the Losers about any of this. Now that Eddie is trying to channel his rage into research, he’s learning more about placebos and their long term effects. Reading about Munchausen by proxy raised so many red flags that Eddie wasn’t aware of before, which  _ does _ make him incredibly angry (he promised Richie he’ll fix his record player, but no, he doesn’t know how he managed to break it so easily). 

However, as Eddie reads more he’s learning about how symptomatic someone can become when nothing is actually wrong with them at all. So maybe Eddie hasn’t caught AIDS or STDs (his blood work has all been fine), but he’s just experiencing too much mental distress over all of this. It will go away. There’s no reason to worry his friends when he just needs some time to get better. After all, he’s not as sick as his mother made him out to be, and he’s determined to prove that.

The one person Eddie can’t prove it to is his own mother. While he hasn’t seen her since he left, he knows she's found a way to come by the house. Maggie wouldn’t say anything, but he’s heard the shouting. The threatening. Usually, Maggie will casually ask if Eddie wants to go back to his mothers and offer him the choice, and all four Tozier’s breathe a sigh of relief when he firmly tells them  _ no. _ He’s quite happy and content here. And even though he still refers to it as  _ Richie’s house _ or  _ the Tozier’s _ there’s something about walking through the front door that makes it feel like  _ his  _ home. Like he doesn’t need to be invited in.

But he supposes it’s always been like that here.

So after a week, Eddie thinks he’s ready to see the rest of his friends. They invite him over on a day Richie is working, which Eddie is a little suspicious of. Richie promised to drop by after his shift and drive Eddie back home after they all hung out, but even Richie thought it was weird that they weren’t going to wait for him, too. 

A truck pulls up in front of the Tozier’s house and Eddie gets onto his feet right away, giving Magge a quick goodbye hug on his way out. It’s late June and it’s hot, but he’s still feeling sickly in the sun, so he’s wearing jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt. Mike and Bill are outside when Eddie comes out, quietly closing the door behind him as he’s listening to them talk as they get out of the car.

“Huh-has Sonia cuh-cuh-called you at all?”

“Definitely not. I very much doubt she’d find my farm in the White Pages.”

They’re already talking about him and Eddie can’t really blame them. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was  _ all _ they’ve been talking about since they found him. He doesn’t want to startle Mike or Bill, so he tries to scrape his feet on the pavement so they hear him approach. 

Again, he’s not surprised that it’s Bill who turns first; alert and immediately directing all of his attention to Eddie. Mike tries to smile, but his face is too sullen to be convincing. When Bill approaches Eddie, he lifts his arms, but jerks them back awkwardly as he decides not to reach forward. He looks unbelievably distraught and guilty in that  _ Bill Denbrough way _ and Eddie feels a bit heartbroken.

“Can I — can I huh-hug you?”

“Bill, don’t be ridiculous,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Bill’s skinny waist. Bill immediately reciprocates, squeezing Eddie just a little bit too tightly around his shoulders.

“How ya feeling, Eddie?” Mike asks carefully. He looks like he wishes he asked or said anything else, but what the hell is there to say after something like this? So Eddie tries to smile up at him and hugs him after Bill is finally able to loosen his grip. “You look a lot better.”

And maybe,  _ maybe _ Eddie thinks they can move past that, but then Bill drops his cautious demeanor and asks, “What were you doing up by Baxter Park?”

_ Oh, you don’t stutter through that? _ Eddie thinks cruelly; he feels guilty immediately. “Nothing, Bill.”

“You duh-don’t  _ nothing _ by stealing your muh-moms car and driving three hours north to Buh-Bumblefuck, Maine.”

“Take it easy, Bill,” Mike says coolly. “He’ll talk when he wants to.”

“Why are we going to Stan’s?” Eddie asks before Bill can speak again.

“The only parents that aren’t home right now,” Mike explains. “The Uris family is spending their honeymoon in the Bahamas.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot that was this week.”

There’s tension between where Eddie and Bill sit in the car, but Mike is trying to keep it as casual as possible. Eddie keeps up the conversation the best he can, feeling lightheaded and achy again. It only dissipates when the sun finally disappears behind a dark cloud and Eddie feels his chest breathe more freely. 

Ben is already here, which surprises Eddie a great deal, since Ben is supposed to be packing. He’s leaving the soonest and has a flight set for Chicago in just a couple of weeks. Most of his friends being together makes Eddie feel immensely warmer, but he’s dying for Richie to get off of work and he still doesn’t have Beverly. 

“Oh fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Mike and Bill say simultaneously, staring at Eddie with concern.

In all his panic and in all the chaos, Eddie had forgotten about  _ Beverly. _ Her letter was still out there, waiting to be read (if not read already — it’s been over a week now) and there was nothing Eddie could do to stop it. Even though this makes Eddie realize that he will inevitably have to deal with those domino pieces collapsing and dealing with the aftermath, he doesn’t think he has it in him to tell the others just yet. He’ll wait as long as he has to.

“Nothing, sorry, I— I’m just happy to see Ben is here, too.”

Neither of them look convinced, but Mike gives Bill a look that stops Bill from saying anything. 

The front door opens before they even get to the porch. In all his years knowing Stanley Uris, Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen Stan look so  _ soft _ before. The only time he can think of Stan having a look so commiserate is when he’s watching endangered bird documentaries or helping a fallen baby up into his nest. That’s what Eddie must look like to him, he supposes, like a little bird with a broken wing and no mommy bird that’s going to take care of him right. 

Without a word, Stan is hugging him too, but it’s much more delicate than Bill’s or Mike’s had been, like Stan is afraid of breaking Eddie. It makes Eddie angrier than he has a right to feel, so he presses his fist into Stan’s chest to push him back. 

“How are you feeling?” Stan asks cautiously, clearly opposed to stepping away too quickly.

“Great,” Eddie lies. The sun feels like it’s boiling the blood in his veins and it’s making him feel sick. He's making an immense mental effort not to fall over where he’s standing, but he’s reluctant to go into Stanley’s house before anyone else.

“Ben would like to talk about something if that’s ok?” Stan asks him, finally deciding to follow Mike inside. Bill still stands by Eddie’s side, watching him carefully.

“That’s fine,” Eddie says tightly, not following.

“You going in?” Bill asks him.

“Yes,” Eddie says simply, but he doesn’t move.

Bill raises his eyebrows, looking between the door and Eddie pointedly. “Today?”

“Eddie, you can come in,” Mike says softly, but he’s looking at Eddie with apprehension.

“It’s not your house,” Eddie says a little harshly. The two of them exchange looks, so Eddie then says, “It’s  _ rude.” _

“Holy Christ, come in the house Eddie,” Stan groans from where he’s sitting on the couch. 

Eddie did not realize how much tension he was holding until it was suddenly released. Like a balloon was finally deflated in his tight chest and an invisible wall crumbles in front of him, he breathes a sigh of relief and steps forward through the threshold. He doesn’t miss Mike mouthing something at Bill, but Eddie is more concerned about something else. 

Just beyond the foyer, Ben and Stan are sitting across from each other and looking like they’re about to give Eddie an intervention. All things considered, Eddie should be happy he has friends that want to sit him down and talk and make sure he’s ok after what happened. But he doesn’t want to  _ talk  _ about it anymore than he already has — the things that  _ could _ be done, the cops certainly aren’t helping him with. The look on Ben’s face makes Eddie nervous and he’s as reluctant to sit down as he was to come into Stan’s house in the first place. Mike and Bill take seats beside each other where Stan is sitting on the couch, leaving an armchair open across the coffee table next to the one Ben is occupying.

Eddie doesn’t take it.

“What have you guys been up to?” Eddie asks casually. Too casually.

“Eddie,” Ben starts. “I got a phone call this morning from Beverly.”

Only Stan is unsurprised, likely having been informed of this while Bill and Mike had gone to get Eddie. They both seem to forget about him entirely for a brief moment when they hear this news. Eddie feels like he’s going to puke.

“How is Beverly doing?” Mike asks immediately. He almost seems relieved. To be fair, it had been so long since Beverly’s existence was present in their lives. All of them had just gone on to assume she was blissfully living her best life in Portland, refusing to call the Losers due to the pain it would cause to bring up all those memories again. That was exactly what Eddie thought, anyway, and that’s exactly what he always assumed the rest of them would do once they left for college. 

The truth, apparently, was a little stranger than that.

“Bev is more or less ok,” Ben continues. “She… well, she told me that she…  _ forgot…  _ about Derry. Like,  _ all of it.” _

“That sounds pretty damn fantastic, actually,” Stan deadpans.

“How is that puh-puh-possible?” 

“And if it is possible, how did she remember again?” Mike interjects.

Eddie remembers what happened to him up north, realizing that he had strangely  _ forgotten _ the numbers of most of the Losers in the time he was up there. But this would expose the uncomfortable topics of his trip if he mentions it, and Ben was speaking before Eddie got a chance to bring it up. 

“Well, apparently… she got a letter,” Ben says slowly, his eyes drifting up to where Eddie is still standing awkwardly.

“I just missed her,” Eddie blurts out defensively. He’s not sure why he’s fighting this when the inevitable truth will come out eventually, but he feels like a rat trapped in a cage. “We’re all graduating and I just wanted to wish her luck with college and everything.”

“Yeah, she mentioned some of that,” Ben smiles tightly. “But the letter finally jogged her memory and, well… She’s also coming up here.”

_ “What?” _ Bill practically shouts. Mike places a hand on his shoulder as if expecting Bill to jump right up out of his seat.

“She seemed really concerned, Eddie,” Ben continued quietly. “We’re  _ all _ really concerned about what happened, but she seemed to  _ know _ something was going to.”

“We all knuh-know there wasn’t a guh-good reason for you to be up there in the fuh-fuh-first place,” Bill says, Ben nodding solemnly across from him.

“If Eddie was ready to tell us, he would have,” Mike insists. “After what just happened, we shouldn’t push him--”

“He already told Buh-Beverly—”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Eddie says heatedly. “I  _ told _ you what my letter said.”

“Were wuh-we suh-suh-supposed to guh-get letters, too?” Bill chokes out, looking frustrated.

“Bill, are you dumb  _ and _ deaf?” Eddie snaps. “Mike said to drop it.” 

“Eddie, take it easy,” Stan says calmly. “Bill, maybe Mike is right. If Eddie doesn’t want to talk about it…”

“Can I use your restroom, Stan?” Eddie asks abruptly.

Stanley sighs and sinks into the couch. “Sure, Eddie.”

Eddie makes a childish display of scowling at Bill and stomping away. There’s nothing but silence behind him as he pounds his feet on the stairs and enters the hallway restroom up on the second floor. Knowing they will probably be talking about him, Eddie leaves the bathroom door open with a crack. He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Are you guh-guys serious?”

“Bill, I know you have a tendency to implode when you can’t fix something,” Stan is saying. “But this isn’t something you  _ can  _ fix.”

“Wuh-what the hell is thuh-that supposed to mean?”

“It means to tone down the hero act and give him some space.”

“Aren’t you worried that he might try to do it again?” Eddie hears Ben say.

“Do  _ what? _ He got—” Stan’s voice drops even lower.  _ “—raped,  _ Ben; you think he’s keen on letting something like that happen again?”

Eddie feels his chest tightening at the word, clutching his shirt just above where his heart is pounding.

“I didn’t mean  _ that,  _ Stan… I meant… I mean  _ c’mon.  _ We know what he was going to do up there. He’s the only one not leaving Derry and I’m terrified to think of what he’s going to do once he’s alone here.”

“He’s not going to be alone,” Mike says. “Richie is going to take him to New York.”

“Says who?”

“Says us,” Stan says firmly. “If all of you would calm the fuck down so I can  _ ask _ him, maybe he won’t freak out and say no. I don’t want him to feel like we’re trying to babysit him.”

That brings a wave of relief, but it’s not strong enough to calm Edde’s panic. Because he can hear their concern over Eddie’s ability to take care of himself. Just like his  _ mother. _ He hasn’t seen his mother since before the incident, but he  _ knows _ she’s looking for him. Somehow she’s made it to the Tozier’s a couple of times, but there’s no car for her to use to get around, so Eddie is sure that’s the only reason she hasn’t been stalking him all around town. She had gotten a ride to the hospital and the police station last week, but whatever poor soul had to deal with her was not so keen on doing so again. 

Thinking about her again is hurting him and he feels that rage again that he’s been trying to suppress. One of his hands is still clutching his shirt while his other reaches for something and grabs onto the towel rack to steady himself. Eddie takes deep breaths in and tries to stare at himself in the mirror, like he’s challenging himself to relax. He looks a mess. His eyes are bloodshot and there’s heavy, dark bags beneath them. He looks almost gaunt. His fingers twist his shirt as his hand shakes. It makes him think about the hand-shaped bruise that was on his chest before it healed up in the last few days.

At that moment, the word Stanley had used — the one Eddie had been so determined to ignore — erupts in Eddie’s thoughts.

That’s when something resurfaces from a deep part of Eddie’s mind. It makes his back feel cold; he can remember it being pressed into the damp grass with someone’s hand pushing him down, flushed against his chest. But Eddie doesn’t remember the face, because his eyes were closed tight while tears streamed down his face and he was begging them to just  _ stop— _

The memory is too painfully thrusted into his mind and Eddie rips the towel rack out of the wall as he gasps. The action surprises him, but he stops himself from falling over by grabbing the edge of the sink. There’s a hole in the bathroom wall now and Eddie stares at the towel rack in his hand in slight disbelief. 

It must be the adrenaline of the trauma.

A low rumbling noise comes from behind Eddie and he turns around to see Stan’s tabby cat, Tawny, perched on the side of the bathtub. A normally very friendly cat, Eddie finds it odd that her back is curved as she stares at him in a defensive position. All of her hair is sticking up and she’s growling lowly at him. But in fairness, Eddie just acted out aggressively on her owner’s home. Eddie tries to calm down and lifts a hand up for her to sniff to remind her who he is. She steps back and lets out a nasty hiss, swiping her paw at him.

As if by some strange, primal instinct, Eddie feels a rumble in his own chest, scowling and  _ hissing right back at her. _ Tawny’s pupils shrink to a line and she runs out the bathroom door just past Eddie’s feet at lightning speed. It slowly creaks open and Eddie looks up to see Stan standing there, his hand lifted as if he was just about to knock on the door, staring at Eddie wide-eyed.

“I broke your — thing,” Eddie stammers, showing Stanley the source of the noise that was still in his hand.

Stanley blinks at him. “You hissed at my cat.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I just  _ saw _ it, Eddie.”

“I broke your fucking towel hook!” Eddie shouts, hysterically trying to change the subject as he thrusts it into Stan’s hands. “I’m sorry!”

“How — how the hell did you  _ do that? _ Eddie, do you need to—?”

“I don’t need anything,” Eddie says, carefully walking past Stan. “I just… I should go back home.”

“Home? Eddie, you don’t mean—”

“Richie’s. I’m going to Richie’s.”

The others are staring at him as Eddie stumbles down the stairs and he realizes he’s covered in bits of debris from the wall he tore up. Mike and Bill are standing again, looking the most concerned.

“Eddie,” Mike says slowly. “You wanna go to the clubhouse? Maybe see a movie? Something distracting?”

“I need to leave,” Eddie tells him. “I’m sorry. I missed you guys, but I think I need to be alone.”

“We don’t want to leave you alone,” Bill says firmly. Mike sighs deeply beside him, looking like he’s trying his best to be patient with both of them.

“Well, I don’t much care for what you want right now, Bill,” Eddie stammers shakily. “Ok? Can you just  _ please  _ give me some space. You guys can ambush me when Bev gets here, but give me more time,  _ please.” _

“Eddie,” Mike starts, but Eddie roughly pushes him away; Mike somehow stumbles back too easily, his eyes widening a little bit as he stops himself from falling on his ass.

“I’m going to walk home.”

“You can’t be serious…” Ben frowns and finally gets up. “Eddie, someone can take you home.”

“I’m fine. I need the space.” 

Bill takes a step forward. “Eddie—”

“I said I’m fine, Sonia!” he snaps. Bill shuts his mouth immediately, letting Eddie rush out the front, slamming the door behind him.

Not a second after Eddie is out of the house, he feels waves of nausea rolling through him. He’s too stubborn to turn around and apologize, probably too angry still, so he just keeps going. There lies a problem in that Richie’s house is the furthest house from Stan’s and it’s all open road. This means there’s a risk of Eddie being seen by his mother, whom he has managed to avoid all week. So when he gets to the first intersection and knows he has to keep going forward, Eddie turns instead. He’s going to go the long way. Give himself some fresh air. Take a walk along the Penobscot River. 

Deep down he knows his friends mean well. Most of their trauma has been shared, with a few exceptions, so it’s uncomfortable for them to not know the responses Eddie wants. He can understand that, but it doesn’t make it any easier for him, either. Now with Beverly’s impending visit, he’s going to have to muster the courage to  _ talk about it,  _ but this comes with some alleviation. Because while he’s not ready to bring up his mistake of going up there to kill himself, he’s at least thankful that Beverly has experience in whatever else had happened to him.

It kills him to think that. He doesn’t  _ want _ to know someone who has gone through something like that, yet it’s encouraging to know that she’ll have a perspective of real understanding. The humiliation, the violation. Maybe if Eddie promises he’ll never purposefully try and hurt himself again, they can steer the conversation away from  _ that,  _ even if the other stuff is also painful to talk about. Because he knows now that he probably won’t try and kill himself again, but he  _ doesn’t _ know whether or not something like  _ that _ will be forced on him again. 

_ You’re such a pretty, delicate little thing… _

Eddie shudders. Sonia had done so well trying to make him look sick so he wouldn’t  _ get _ sick, yet one of the worst things that happened to him was done so easily because of how  _ delicate _ Eddie was. He wonders how she’d feel about that, but it just makes him angry again.

The sun is too fucking bright and Eddie is realizing he made a terrible mistake by taking the long way. At less risk of running into his mother, he is still weak and has not eaten properly since he left his home in the first place. Nothing has stayed down but water and  _ blood _ of all things. His muscles are turning to jelly and he has to lean against a tree for a moment to catch his breath.

He’s just sick. His immune system is weakened from the placebo effects and the trauma. That’s what his physician had warned him about. Now Eddie is susceptible to _ real _ illness and his body is ill-prepared for dealing with it like a normal person. Normally, he would love to bask in the sunlight and let the warmth wash over him, but it’s just making him  _ tired. _ So he rests.

Eddie’s eyes are closed when he feels something erupt in his gut — not just physically, but some primal feeling from the recesses of his mind that are awakening. Something brushes by his feet and before he realizes what is happening, Eddie is down on his knees with something struggling in his hands and he brings it up to his lips—

His teeth sink into something soft, sinking like they’re in  _ butter, _ and warmth is spilling down his throat. He lets out a soft, content groan as he squeezes with both hands and feels the tender flesh in his fingers wring and struggle as it  _ squeals. _ His hands keep pressing until he’s bled it dry and all that’s left in the palms of his hand is a limp corpse of skin and bone.

There’s no relief to his malaise; rather, his stomach twists violently as it digests what Eddie just forced into it. He blinks tears away and stares down at the poor rabbit in his hands, the creature's eyes still wide in shock. He is beyond unwell. He is sick beyond body and mind. There is something truly, deeply  _ wrong _ with him and those feelings of monstrous hatred are returning. Whether they’re for his mother, for the man who attacked him, or for himself… he’s not entirely sure.

“Eddie?”

Eddie snaps his head up and is mortified when he sees a pair of eyes staring down at him with horror.


	5. I'm in a Mood for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap is actually quite... soft? there's still some warnings just in case, but have at it lads <3
> 
> also thank you all for the comments and kudos, they really be fueling me
> 
> cw/tw; contains spoilers so be warned://**spoilers**//mention of animal death, consensual blood drinking, continued ideation of sexual assault, mention of vomit, mention of abuse, biting ****//

****************************************

As much as Eddie loves Richie, it’s a little difficult not to stare as Mike takes his shirt off. Even as he’s crying and covered in blood and a little angry at Mike for following him out here, his eyes wander over Mike’s large chest stretching out his tank top. It probably makes Eddie look even creepier as Mike leans down next to him and Eddie is just staring at the muscles in his exposed arms. However, he’s brought back to his senses as Mike carefully uses his shirt to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face. 

He’s comfortable enough with Mike that he gives in again freely to his sobs, pressing his arms against his upset stomach. One of Mike’s hands finds its way to Eddie’s where they’re folded in his lap, clasping around them comfortingly. He’s just letting Eddie cry for a few moments, waiting for Eddie to settle down before he speaks.

“I don’t think an animal will do,” Mike says quietly with a frown. “You’ll need human blood.”

Eddie blinks up at him in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ll need human blood, I think,” Mike says again without further explanation.

“Mike, what are you talking about?”

Besides Eddie’s sniffling, there’s just silence. Mike looks like he’s in deep thought or concentration and Eddie patiently waits for him to answer; mostly so that he doesn’t want to have to be the one to think about it himself. Even if his stomach is roaring in pain and his brain is screaming that something is wrong beyond just stress.

“You know, when you’re homeschooled, you can get your work done an awful lot faster,” Mike continues. “You guys wouldn’t get out of school and come home until almost three in the afternoon. Sometimes you’d have programs after… So I spent a lot of time reading when I didn’t have to work the farm. Especially after the sewers.”

“Don’t talk about that shit, Mike,” Eddie spits. He feels bad for snapping, because Mike just smiles at him apologetically, lifting Eddie’s chin gently to make sure he got all the blood off. 

“There’s a lot of weird things out there. Particularly in Maine… which is odd, considering how unremarkable Maine really is.”

“There was nothing remarkable about the island of Manhattan until we built skyscrapers on it,” Eddie reasons, although he’s still not sure what Mike is going off about.

“Touché,” Mike sighs. He adjusts his position and sits next to Eddie with his legs crossed, careful not to touch the dead rabbit Eddie tossed aside. “Well, apparently Maine is a hot spot for what we’ve deemed to be the supernatural. Deadlights from the macroverse, which we were already aware of… and also vampires.”

He stares down at Eddie meaningfully. Even as upset as Eddie is, he can’t help but laugh incredulously at Mike’s statement.

“That’s funny, Mike.”

“I’m being serious, Eddie.”

“Right, right.” Eddie rolls his eyes and makes a show of hiking up one of his sleeves. “Look, I’m even bursting into flames in the sunlight.”

“Dracula could walk in the sun,” Mike says a little smugly. “He didn’t have his powers, but he certainly didn’t crumble into dust. You feeling tired when you’re outside?”

“I must have caught something upstate,” Eddie mumbles dismissively.

“You’re so sick that you’re eating a raw rabbit, but have the incredible ability to nearly knock me off my feet and rip off Stanley's walls?”

“I don’t have fangs.”

“You did. I saw them before you noticed I walked up. They retract, I suspect. Your eyes also… they kind of turned all black.”

Eddie didn’t like that answer one bit. “I have a reflection.”

“Ok, well…” Mike reaches in his jeans and pulls out an old pocket watch. He dangles it in front of Eddie and holds it still for Eddie to look at directly. “How about in that?”

Eddie sighs dramatically and looks into the back of the shiny, reflection surface. All he can see is the tree and wilderness behind him. No, he  _ definitely _ doesn’t like that. “This… doesn’t make any sense…”

“It’s silver,” Mike explains, tapping the top of the watch before he pockets it again. “When vampire novels and lore started to become popular, mirrors were made with a process called silvering. Prior to that, it was made with other metals, and usually modern ones use aluminum, I think. I’ll read more about it, but for whatever reason silver doesn’t like showing your face.”

“Like with werewolves and silver bullets?”

“I don’t think there’s such things as werewolves,” Mike says seriously.

“Of course not. That would just be ridiculous.”

His sarcasm isn’t lost on Mike, but Mike chooses to ignore it. Instead, he scoots closer to Eddie under the tree and wraps an arm around Eddie’s much smaller frame. 

“I won’t tell the others until you’re ready. Richie will be harder to hide from, since you’re living with him. He’s the only reason I caught on so quickly.”

“What did he tell you?” Eddie asked, unable to stop himself from curling up into Mike’s warm side and resting his head on Mike’s chest as he squeezes Eddie into a tight embrace. His body is still sore and lethargic, even if his bruises have healed.

“Well, he mentioned concerns about your eating and illness, which would have seemed normal enough, considering what you went through. But I had suspicions about what really happened when we picked you up in ‘Salem’s Lot—”

“Where?”

“Jerusalem’s Lot. The town is a lot like Derry, where the locals don’t really seem to  _ know _ what’s going on. Or even dismiss it. There’s probably some vampire compelling the whole area, to my understanding. Maybe a lot of them. I guess the same way adults in this town would brush off all the horrible things that happened after…  _ It. _ When we found you, though, I knew a normal human probably wouldn’t have been able to do all that…”

“Normal people don’t surprise me in the monstrous things they do,” Eddie mutters, thinking of his mother.

“No, I guess not… So, did you just…  _ attack _ you? Or did he actually…?”

Mike is tentative to ask, but Eddie nods against his chest. “I guess some vampires want a little more than just blood…”

“Drinking from you alone wouldn’t have turned you, though,” Mike muses. 

“No… I would’ve had to drink from him, too,” Eddie hears himself say. Another abrupt memory resurfaces and he can remember something hot spilling onto his tongue and dripping down his throat.  _ Can you taste how sweet you are now that you’re running through my veins? _ It makes Eddie shudder.

“Did he give you any indication why he’d want to turn you after? Why wouldn't he just kill you after doing something like that?”

_ If I could have you forever looking like this… _ “No,” Eddie lies. Mike seems to sense it, but he doesn’t pry.

“Well, there’s no point in letting you suffer any longer,” Mike is saying as he gently lifts Eddie’s head to rest on his shoulder. He squeezes Eddie around the waist as he brings his other arm up to Eddie’s face. “Here.”

“Mike, you can’t be fucking serious.”

“Eddie, you’re  _ starving. _ You’re going to get sick eating animals and trying to drink yourself to death. A little blood loss won’t hurt me. Think of it as a donation.”

Eddie looks up at Mike apprehensively, but he just looks back with soft, encouraging eyes. Eddie gingerly takes Mike’s arm in his hands (which has no right to be as thick as it is in Eddie’s small palms).

“The marks won’t go away,” Eddie warns him, but he’s already salivating. 

“That’s ok. It won’t be my worst scar,” Mike tells him. Eddie’s eyes dart to the palm of Mike’s hand, which still displays the large, shiny scar from their blood oath. It’s odd, but seeing it makes Eddie feel better about the fact that he’s about to treat Mike’s wrist like Salisbury steak. Because it’s not just Mike’s blood, it’s  _ their _ blood; all seven of them coursing through each other’s veins as one.

So Eddie finds himself in the peculiar, unforseen position of bringing Mike’s arm up to his lips. Now that he's concentrating on what he’s doing and not just acting out on instinct, he can feel his canines extending, the points brushing against his tongue before he sinks them easily into Mike’s flesh. 

Mike hisses slightly, but doesn’t move. Eddie lets out an embarrassing moan from how fucking  _ good _ the blood tastes, thick and tangy as it spills down his throat. He can feel Mike’s pulse beating against his tongue and it’s hypnotising. The blood is more satisfying than any quenched thirst Eddie’s ever experienced. It almost disgusts and embarrasses him to think that it’s almost as satisfying as getting off, creating a floaty, fuzzy feeling in his brain.

Mike is cradling the back of Eddie’s head with his other hand and gently tugs Eddie back by the hair after a few moments. Eddie gasps as his teeth retract back in and Mike’s blood drips down his chin and he’s brought back to life. He feels so goddamn  _ rejuvenated, _ like he’s just received a shot of pure adrenaline and vitamins. It reminds him of the time he electrocuted himself on the power outlet in Bill’s living room when he was eight. Mike chuckles next to him as he wraps his wrist up in his already bloodied up shirt.

“Better?” he smiles brightly at Eddie. “The color is back in your cheeks.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie pants, wiping his chin and clutching his chest. Even his heartbeat feels stronger. “Why do I still have a heartbeat? Aren’t I, like… technically dead?”

“Undead,” Mike corrects. “I guess? I’m not sure. I can do some more readings for you. Maybe even get you some books to read up on yourself.”

“I’ll still need to sleep and stuff?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Eddie huffs, as if he has a right to be annoyed by any of this, like it’s just some slight inconvenience. “So, what, I get a change in diet and need more sunscreen? Is that all?”

“Eddie, I don’t think you realize how strong you’re going to be. Especially if you’re getting human blood the way you’re supposed to.”

Eddie looked down at himself — still small and petite, and now probably unchanging.  _ Strong  _ definitely wasn’t something he’d think to use as a self-described adjective. He was fast, for sure, but no one would catch him in the gym lifting weights with Ben. Maybe that would change. Now that he’s fed properly, he doesn’t feel the slightest bit ill; just a little weary in the sunlight. It’s a little bit depressing, because Eddie normally loves sitting out on a sunny day; at least he’s not  _ dying  _ outside though.

Everything seems clearer; the blurry distance is sharpened and Eddie swears he can hear every leaf rustling around them, every bird up in the branches. Mike’s heartbeat is humming softly beside him, content.

There’s finally a relief to Eddie’s chaos and it’s probably strange how little he’s worried about this. He supposes this is a better alternative to being dead, at least. Even if he did want to die so badly and for so long just over a week ago. But one thing that is not lost on him is how his other friends will react. Especially—

“What’s Richie going to think of this?” he whispers.

“He’ll probably think it’s cool,” Mike laughs. “Imagine the two of you in New York getting harassed by some dicks and you can just throw them across a subway train? You’ll be his little hero.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh at the mental image of himself in a Dracula-style cape, carrying Richie’s giant body in his little arms. He’s glad for his still-beating heart and its ability to  _ soar _ thinking about Richie like that.

“You think New York will be a good idea? There’s a lot of people in that city…”

“Lots of shade between the buildings,” Mike reasons. “Changing seasons, too, so you won’t have to deal with the sunlight as much as Bill and I in L.A.”

“You’re both still going? I know you were on the fence…”

“I thought about staying behind,” Mike admits. “Help my grandfather on the farm for a bit. See how everyone fairs when they leave Derry…”

“Are we going to forget each other?” Eddie doesn’t like thinking about that one bit, but Mike simply shrugs.

“We’ll make adjustments. We’ll try to remind ourselves. I don’t plan on losing you guys.”

“Me neither,” Eddie smiles at him. “Poor Stan, though… getting an apartment with me and Richie.”

Mike actually guffaws at that, loud and booming. “That poor, poor man. Please,  _ please _ tell me there will be separate bedrooms?”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, but the silence is telling enough that Mike’s expression softens. “Maybe I should get home. I’ll see everyone soon, I promise. I’m just…”

“You need the space from them,” Mike finishes. “It’s ok. You know where to find us when you need it.”

He helps Eddie up and Eddie tries his best not to let his eyes linger on the poor rabbit he killed. Seeing it twists his stomach in a different kind of way, but Mike distracts him though by pulling him into a hug. As if knowing what Eddie was thinking, he says, “You’re not a monster, Eddie. It’s just an adjustment.”

It has Eddie thinking about whoever had attacked him. The sinister intentions behind it, the desire to  _ hurt _ Eddie and violate him. He wonders how much that man’s behavior changed from that of a human after  _ he _ was turned… how much more Eddie’s might. But if Eddie can’t even handle harming a bunny by mistake, he has some hope that Mike is right.

*******

It pains Eddie to say that his first emotion upon seeing Beverly again is  _ annoyance. _ It doesn’t help that Richie points out exactly what Eddie is thinking, that even with Beverly back and Eddie’s  _ slight  _ growth spurt since they were thirteen, he is  _ still _ the shortest of the Losers.

“I missed you guys so fucking much,” Beverly cries, resting her chin on Eddie’s head and making Richie snicker. “Richie, shut up—”

“It looks like you’re snuggling a little teddy bear—”

“Yes,  _ please,  _ Richie. Beep beep.” Eddie pulls away from Beverly, but he’s  _ happy _ more than anything to see her. He does frown slightly when he looks up at her (yes, _ up, _ for fucks sake) and notices a faded bruise on her cheek. She catches him staring, but Eddie realizes just  _ how _ faint the bruise is and that maybe only his enhanced eyesight can really see it properly.

Eddie is feeling that all-too-familiar-now rage bubbling in his gut. 

“Seeing anyone, Bev?” Eddie can’t stop himself from asking.

“Ugh, not anymore. I was with some douchebag who threw up on my tits after prom.”

“That just sounds like my normal Saturday night,” Richie shrugs.

Beverly rolls her eyes, but can’t stop herself from grinning. Eddie isn’t very amused.

“I hope he got what was coming to him,” he mumbles.

“The important thing is that we’re done,” Beverly dismisses. “He has no idea where I’m going for college now.”

“Where  _ are _ you going?”

“Chicago.”

“That’s where Ben is going,” Richie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. “You two should  _ definitely  _ catch up. I noticed that you remembered  _ his  _ number, despite all of your Derry amnesia.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Beverly frowns. “I  _ didn’t. _ Not until I got Eddie’s letter. It’s weird. One minute I don’t have a clue about this place, then I’m  _ crying _ in my living room and remembering…  _ everything.” _

“Crying, huh?” Richie asks. “Did Eddie send you a self-portrait?”

“Fuck off, Richie,” Eddie huffs.

“No, I just…” Beverly sighs, leaning back against the railing of Richie’s porch. “Everything I  _ felt _ when I lived here came rushing back. All the horror, all the pain… all my love for you guys.”

Richie opens his mouth, but Eddie shoots him a harsh look before he can say something stupid again. Part of him wishes he just let Richie say something anyway, because then Beverly brings up the thing he was dreading.

“I’m glad to see you guys,” Beverly says quietly, her eyes locked on Eddie. “After I read your letter, I thought something might’ve happened…”

Eddie didn’t think Beverly would do something like  _ look _ for him, so he was much more vague in his letter to her about his intentions. The most damning letters were burnt up by Richie, thankfully, and the other Losers seemed to at least understand Eddie’s reluctance to talk about it now that he’s back and alive and has been traumatized  _ enough.  _ He doesn’t want to lie to Beverly, so he won’t. Instead, he just offers a partial truth. 

“I was going to stay in Derry after everyone left. Once it kind of dawned on me that everyone would forget about me, I just… wanted to let you know how much you meant to me. Just in case you were never able to hear from me again.”

He feels Richie shift closer to him as Beverly smiles sadly. “Well, I’m going to stay in town for a few days. I didn’t mean to ambush you, but we can hang out while I’m here, ok? Maybe we can figure out a way to keep our memories from slipping after we all go away.”

“Where are you staying?” Richie asks her.

“With Mike. His grandfather said I could stay in a guestroom.”

“Well, call us first thing in the morning so we can plan something. I’ll tell work I’m sick or something if I’m scheduled.”

“Aw, for little ole’ me?” Beverly grins, starting to give them both hugs again.

“You’re the only one who has cigarettes I can bum,” Richie winks. “These other Losers are a bunch of squares.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s looking at Eddie very earnestly before she leaves. “You know I’m still here for you, right? No matter how long it’s been. You can talk to me about anything.”

“I know, Beverly,” Eddie tells her truthfully; he’s just not ready yet.

They’re about to go inside, but Eddie catches Beverly leaning into Richie’s ear. There’s no way he would normally be able to hear her low whispers before, but Eddie is now able to hear her say, “I’d read his letter if I were you. Especially if he was as honest with you as he was in mine.” She winks at Richie’s confused face, patting him on the arm before running back to her car, trying not to get caught up in the rain that’s starting to come down. Eddie tries his best to look casual when Richie follows him inside.

“I can’t believe Beverly is back,” Richie sighs. “I’d never want to come back to this place if I could help it.”

“Are you not going to eat?” Maggie is asking after Richie closes the door behind him. Her and Wentworth are both dressed up nicely, looking like they’re getting ready to go out.

“I had food at work,” Richie says, looking at Eddie.

“I already ate with Mike,” Eddie tells her; it’s not entirely a lie, after all.

“He did,” Went assures them. “Mike told me when he dropped Eddie off.”

She seems to relax a bit, smiling at Eddie before kissing the top of his head. Every time she does this it sends affectionate warmth through Eddie’s chest. He doesn’t remember ever being this consistently happy before in his life. If he wasn’t planning on accepting the offer to move in with Stan and Richie, he’d stay with them for as long as possible.

“You two have plans?” Wentworth asks Richie. “Penelope is sleeping over Tiff’s.”

“And we’re going on a date night,” Maggie gushes, pushing past Richie to get her raincoat as he makes throwing up noises.

“Gross. Is that a warning to stay as far away from the house as possible?”

“Don’t be silly,” Maggie says. “We’ll do all our fooling around at the movie theater, you guys can stay here.”

“Mom, the fuck?” Richie grimaces while Eddie starts laughing. “Poor Bill has to clean those seats, you filthy animals. I don’t need to hear that shit.”

“Don’t dish it if you can’t take it, son,” Wentworth deadpans, patting Richie on the shoulder. 

The two of them say their goodbyes before they’re gone, leaving Eddie and Richie alone in the house for the first time since Eddie started to live here. The silence is quite  _ loud,  _ and Richie excuses himself to go upstairs while Eddie saunters into the living room. He flops down onto the couch, kicking his legs up and staring up at the ceiling as he wonders what his priority should be.

Ok, so he’s a vampire. No big deal. Not much has really changed yet, he thinks, but Eddie is trying to remind himself that it probably hasn’t resonated with him quite yet. Because  _ nothing _ is going to change now, most likely. He’ll try to navigate life looking like this for — what,  _ forever? _ That’s fucking daunting. Eddie  _ really _ needs Mike to do some more research, because the thought of everlasting life is as terrifying as death itself. When he thinks about that, Eddie realizes he’s probably terrified of infinity rather than just life or death. A week ago, he was willing to die to escape what he  _ felt _ like an infinity of suffering in hopes of finding something different on the other side. 

How is he going to explain this if he doesn’t age? Will he age? He has no idea how any of this works. All of his knowledge comes from old horror movies and stories. He wouldn’t mind aging  _ slowly _ and having a long life, sure, but forever being mistaken as an eighteen-year-old (or even younger, let’s face it) doesn’t sound like much fun.

Then there’s Richie. What’s his priority there? Gauge how Richie reacts to him being a vampire or find out if Richie is still willing to be with Eddie after being — attacked like that. That’s if Richie still even  _ feels _ that way, considering he left Eddie his mixtape confession in  _ November. _ It’s nearing July now and he could’ve had a change of heart.

And even if Richie  _ does _ feel that way still, Eddie is still afraid of voicing his love back out loud. Almost more afraid than dealing with his newfound vampirism, which is saying a lot. Beverly encouraged Richie to read the letter Eddie left him, which is brimming with emotions and pining that Eddie couldn’t possibly explain away with just  _ friendship. _ So Eddie wonders if it’s best for Richie to read it first or if Eddie should give him a warning.

Eddie doesn’t seem to have to make the decision for himself right now, anyway, because Richie is suddenly straddling him on the couch.

“Jesus, what are you doing?” Eddie gasps, looking up at Richie with wide-eyes.

“Is this a joke?” Richie asks in a strained voice, holding up a piece of paper; Eddie doesn’t need two guesses to figure out what it is.

Eddie gulps and tries to relax his head back down on the armrest. “No. Did you just now read it?”

“Beverly told me to,” Richie says quietly; his expression is difficult to read as he stares down at Eddie. “My mom's reaction makes… a bit more sense. This isn’t a goodbye letter.”

“Not exactly.”

Richie’s breathing is very shallow and he purses his lips. “Why did you send this to me?”

“Like I told Bev; I just wanted everyone to know how much they meant to me.”

“Were the other letters like this?”

“Definitely not.” Eddie pushes himself up onto his elbows, which is normally difficult with Richie’s weight on him like this, but Richie easily shifts back a little bit so that he’s sitting on Eddie’s knees. “I didn’t listen to your tape until the night I left.”

Richie blinks. “You didn’t?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Richie’s mouth opens and closes a few times and then he’s scowling as he says, “Why did you still leave, then?”

“I was already — doing it. I was listening to it while I was… waiting to overdose.”

“Overdose?” Richie frowns deeper. “On your placebos?”

“I didn’t realize they were placebos,” Eddie mumbles sheepishly. “I guess I should thank my mom for that, after all.”

“I should fucking kill her,” Richie growls distractedly, clenching his fists. Eddie takes Richie by the chin and forces him to look back at him. He doesn’t want either of them to dwell on Sonia right now.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says quietly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid. I’m sorry I was… too ashamed to tell you. I thought you’d think I was disgusting.”

Richie lets go of the letter, letting it fall to the carpet as he reaches up to take Eddie’s hand. It’s surprisingly soft, not like the dry and chapped skin Eddie is used to — Eddie wonders if Richie started finally moisturizing after all of Eddie’s nagging. Right now, he just holds Eddie’s hand for a moment while looking back at him, his expression soft. “I’d never think that about you, Eds.”

In a quick motion, Eddie yanks his legs out from where they’re tucked beneath Richie, pushing himself up and into Richie’s lap. Richie looks startled, but his arms are around Eddie’s waist immediately as he adjusts his legs without falling off the side of the couch.

“Is this ok?” Eddie whispers. He can feel and hear how quickly Richie’s heart is racing in his chest, flush against Eddie’s own. They’re so close Eddie can feel Richie’s breath when he speaks.

“This is absolutely fucking ok. Are you — are  _ you _ ok?”

“I don’t really know how to do this…” Eddie admits. It’s a vague statement loaded with implications; all of which Richie can understand, though. He doesn’t know any gay couples, unless he counts his old neighbors (and really, he was too young to know if they were actually gay or if his mom just preferred to refer to them as queer out of disgust). He’s never actually even  _ kissed _ anyone properly. Riche, on the other hand, has had sex before. It was only the once when he went on a cruise with his parents, but they knew he was telling the truth because of how awkward he admitted it to being (“I’m saddened to say that I did not, in fact, rock her socks off. The socks were still very much on for the entire two minutes of disappointment.”)

“Can I tell you a secret?” Richie whispers back. “I don’t either.”

“You fucking shit,” Eddie laughs, relishing in how Richie feels giggling beneath him. “All these hot chicks you brag about fucking and your big dick; all lies.”

“Not  _ all _ lies—”

“Beep beep,” Eddie grins. He’s not sure how he wants this moment to go. He just — he kind of wants to live in it forever. Ironic, since he had just been worried about forever only moments ago. Forever with Richie, though… that wasn’t so scary. Even if they just held on to each other like this and stared at each other like this, like nothing else mattered in the world — yeah, forever of this would be great, Eddie thinks. 

So before he does anything rash or impulsive, he tries to take it all in. He sinks himself deeper into Richie’s lap, pressing their bodies together, letting Richie hold all his weight and wrap his arms more securely around Eddie’s waist. Eddie can’t help but nuzzle into Richie’s neck and savor his scent, which has always been strangely resinous for someone who spends most of his time inside playing video games. But it clings to Richie’s collar and his hair — his hair which has  _ no _ business being this soft as Eddie slowly rakes his fingers through the curls. Richie’s hands are warm where they’re stroking up and down Eddie’s back, but nothing like the pulsating and intoxicating heat coming from his neck. 

Panic is quick to distract Eddie, a moment of terror striking him as he inhales the scent there — what he realizes is Richie’s blood. It makes his mouth salivate and he presses his tongue up against the roof of his mouth as if it’ll stop his teeth from sharpening.

But Eddie doesn’t get lost in the moment too long and he doesn’t have to worry about doing something as reckless as impulsively biting Richie (he’ll have to thank Mike again for feeding him so well). Richie gently pulls Eddie back from their embrace to look at him. One arm is still resting in Eddie’s thigh, the other cupped under Eddie’s chin. Eddie can feel Richie’s eyes piercing into his soul. It’s not uncomfortable or invasive, though; it’s only sincerity.

“I love you, Eds,” Richie says.

Little waves of joy spread throughout Eddie’s limbs, finally hearing it straight from Richie’s mouth. He can’t stop the smile spreading on his face as he says back, “I love you, too Richie.”

Richie looks uncertain as he cups Eddie’s cheek in his hand. “Can I… kiss you? Or is that too mu—”

Eddie cuts him off, leaning in to kiss him before either of them have to worry about it too much. He’s so used to Richie being playful and teasing that his slow movements against Eddie’s lips are shocking. Richie’s being so careful, but Eddie also realizes he’s being purposeful. He has so much more grace with his body and mouth that Eddie has ever given him credit for, all while Eddie is clumsy and hesitant. One of Richie’s thumbs brushes down Eddie’s cheek and rests on his chin, keeping it from moving too much while Richie leads the kiss with ease. When their tongues touch, Eddie jumps a little and Richie giggles into his mouth.

“Sorry,” Richie chuckles. “I’ll take it easy.”

“Don’t.” 

Eddie doesn’t have a second to savor the shock on Richie’s face or his own astonishment as he crashes their lips together again. He knocks Richie over onto his back too easily and Richie lets out a muffled noise of surprise. Eddie still has no idea what he’s doing, but he's not even  _ thinking _ as he starts grinding his hips into Richie’s and clawing his fingers through Richie’s hair and down Richie’s chest. Something like a growl crawls out of his throat and he can still smell that intoxicating aroma pumping through Richie’s veins and it’s sending him into a frenzy. He licks into Richie’s mouth, trying to taste  _ something, _ a moan escaping him as his tongue flicks something warm—

_ “Ow!” _

Richie pushes Eddie off and is thankfully too distracted in his own bleeding lip to notice Eddie’s fangs still out. Eddie covers his mouth as they retract, looking down at Richie guiltily. 

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “I just — I got carried away.”

“Jesus, you’re an animal, Eds,” Richie  _ thankfully _ laughs, looking up at Eddie teasingly. He seems a bit worried, but only because Eddie must look frightened. “Hey, I’m not mad! It was kind of hot, actually, just — we should take this slow, ok?”

Eddie nods, finally lowering his hand once he’s sure there’s nothing damning for Richie to see. “Sorry,” he says again.

“It’s ok, Eds,” Richie smiles brightly, sitting up and cupping Eddie’s cheek. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. I’d probably be going crazy like that, too, if…” He trails off and Eddie is glad he doesn’t finish, because he doesn’t want to talk about that. He doesn’t want what happened to him to ruin  _ this. _

“Can we try that again?” Eddie whispers, looking up at Richie through his lashes.

Richie’s smile only widens. “As many times as you’ll let me.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn with a giddy grin, taking Richie’s face in both hands. He eyes the drop of blood still clinging onto Richie’s bottom lip and hopes Richie won’t notice when Eddie sucks it back between his teeth. 


	6. If I Said It, I Meant It; I'm Not Really Demented

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, please brief yourselves on the tags before proceeding should you have any triggers. I already had the implied noncon tag here, but for *this* chapter in particular I am adding the dubcon tag, so, discretion still advised. If you would like a bit more clarification before reading, you can review my brief notes below that contain the specific spoilers. I am also very happy to explain any tags anyone has questions about. Never hesitate to tell me something should be tagged if I forgot it.
> 
> cw/tw;://**contains spoilers**//anxiety & anxious thoughts, reference to past sexual trauma, sexual content (grinding, hand job, frottage), accidental self-harm (self blood drinking), non consensual blood drinking, choking, rough sex, anal fingering and anal sex, spit used as lube; in regards to the dubious consent: Eddie accidentally compels Richie to have sex with him. Both are doing what they want, but neither planned or really controlled the incident on purpose, its a bit upsetting****//

************************

Despite what he’s been through, Eddie finds that he’s able to really  _ breathe _ properly for the first time. There’s a weight that’s lifted off of him now that he and Richie are open about the way they feel for each other. It’s freeing and it’s  _ bliss _ and Eddie can’t fully be bothered to worry about what other people would think of him. If it had been weeks ago, he may have been terrified. But now that the boy he’s loved for over a decade loves him back — and he’s managed to survive two eldritch monsters before he heads off to college — nothing really scares him anymore.

When they out themselves to the Losers, there’s no surprise on any of their faces. Stanley groaned loudly, begging them both to finally stop their flirty bickering. Mike and Ben were all sappy about it, of course. Bill seemed anxious after Eddie told him, but for completely different reasons than Eddie expected. Reasons he couldn’t express until after Mike went home. 

“I was guh-going to ask Mike to muh-muh-move in with me when we go to California,” Bill admitted to him and Richie at Stanley’s house. 

“I’m sorry,  _ what?  _ You mean like — like  _ that?” _

“There are a statistically improbable amount of queers in this group,” Stanley mused.

“Well we — well, I — why the hell hasn’t anyone mentioned this to me before? Do you know how much easier shit would’ve been if I knew that? Why didn’t you guys say you weren’t straight?”

“Sonia,” they said simultaneously.

“I duh-didn’t want to juh-jeopardize hanging out with you,” Bill said sheepishly. 

“We should’ve fucking dragged her into the goddamn sewers with the clown,” Richie growled. He shut up when Stan shot him a look.

“Imagine her reaction, though?” Stanley huffed. “It would’ve been so much harder to even hang out with you and get you out of the house. We thought it was safer this way. She would’ve thought it was contagious.”

“To be fair, anyone hanging around this little cutie would be turned,” Richie cooed, dropping his angry demeanor and pinching Eddie’s cheek. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t push Richie away.

“I wuh-wish it was cuh-contagious,” Bill sighed. “I duh-don’t know how Muh-Muh-Mike is gonna react…”

“Mike won’t care,” Eddie told him right away. “Even if he doesn’t feel that way back, he’s not going to turn you away, Bill.”

So there it was; Eddie wasn’t a freak. Just another Loser, as he always was. It has him thinking about all the subtle things between all his friends growing up and realizing how stupid they’ve all kind of been for not knowing about each other. None of them said they were gay like Eddie, but the three of them had confirmed they were definitely not straight. Still, there’s a comfort there, knowing he’s not alone. Even if Mike and Ben are straight (and he won’t be rude enough to ask them directly whether they really are or not) they accept him anyway.

Things were looking up as Richie and Stan started planning their move with Eddie included in everything. Eddie was able to get into a community college pretty easily so that he won’t risk falling behind the others in his studies. He doesn’t know  _ what _ he’ll want to study — considering he doesn’t know much about the kind of life he’s going to have — but it’s all exciting anyway. All Eddie has to look forward to now is a life away from Derry, a life without fear of Sonia, a life with the love of his life. 

It was easy for him to forget telling Richie about his little predicament, even with Mike’s constant reminders.

Telling Richie does seem daunting, but Richie is so openly puppy-dog-eyes in love with him, Eddie is positive it won’t be that bad when he finds out. After all, Mike showed no judgement or fear when he learned the truth. Richie shouldn’t be scared of him, either. There wasn’t any real  _ reason _ to be afraid. 

The only problem is Eddie doesn’t really have a time or place to  _ tell  _ Richie. They’re usually too busy doing… other things. Because when they’re not trying to spend time with their friends, and they’re not just snuggling on the couch during Tozier movie night, and they’re not packing their things for their move, they’re usually making out on Richie’s bed.

So it’s easy to forget about telling Richie about the vampire nonsense when his tongue is occupied in Richie’s mouth.

Richie keeps asking, “Is this ok?” despite Eddie being the one to always strip them of their shirts and yank Richie on top of him. 

“I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t ok, Rich,” Eddie reminds him over and over. He’s also trying to remind  _ himself _ that maybe  _ Richie _ needs some time, too, after what happened. He tries to be patient, but he’s also more ravenous for sex than he thought he ever would be, regardless of the circumstances. Now that their walls have broken down, Eddie is finding it hard not to go charging in. He’s never even  _ had  _ sex before, so he’s not sure where this new craving comes from.

Eddie is also a lot stronger than Richie now, so Eddie has to muster the mental strength not to just toss Richie onto the bed whenever he wants to. Besides, in a weird way, Eddie  _ really _ likes the feeling of Richie doing things to him. He likes feeling like Richie could crush him, pin him down, have his way with Eddie if he wanted to. Maybe it’s conditioned from all those years of Richie manhandling him. But even with Eddie’s new  _ powers _ or whatever he wants to call it, he can still feel the roughness against his skin and small bruising on his flesh when Richie gives him hickey’s and he  _ really  _ likes that and he just wants  _ more. _

Eddie tries to hold back. The best he can do is relax as much as possible once Richie knows he’s comfortable, so he can feel like Richie is taking charge. He doesn’t want to scare Richie and he feels like Richie is trying not to scare  _ him. _ He wants Richie to know that everything is ok, and he wants  _ himself _ to feel like he’s ok. That there’s nothing wrong with him for wanting this. 

They’ve made out about a dozen times now and with their move to New York approaching, Eddie is trying to squeeze in all the naughty, secretive things they never got to do as teenagers in high school. It’s way past midnight and he finds himself beneath Richie, again, with their lips locked after everyone else has gone to bed, begging for just  _ a little more. _

“Richie,” Eddie whines against Richie’s lips. “Richie, can I touch you, please?”

Richie just nods, moving his head to start kissing along Eddie’s jaw where he’s laying on top of Eddie under the covers. Eddie reaches between them, palm open to cup Richie in his hand. Richie groans when Eddie grips him through his flannel pants, and Eddie lets out a whimper at the size of him.

“That’s not fair,” Eddie cries softly.

“What, sweetheart?” Richie breaths against his neck.

“You can’t have a big dick. I can’t call you out in public when you make dick jokes.”

“You can keep it our secret,” Richie chuckles into his ear. “How does that sound?”

“Our dirty little secret,” Eddie grins, palming Richie’s cock more. “Fuck, Richie, how is that even gonna fit in my ass?”

Richie leans up onto his elbows to look at Eddie curiously; a little shocked, even. “You really wanna do that?”

“Yeah. I mean, what else would we do? I don’t -- I don’t know what to expect, but I just -- I really want you.”

“Not right  _ now _ though, right?” Richie clarifies, looking down at where Eddie is starting to pull down the front of his pants. “We should probably build up to that…”

“No, but… can I… get you off?” Eddie asks shyly. “Please?”

By the way Richie’s hips twitch against him, Eddie knows he’s going to say yes. But Richie takes a second to collect himself, cupping Eddie’s cheek before asking, “Can we both? I wanna make you feel good too, baby.”

The way he says  _ baby _ has Eddie melting and he nods up at Richie with a huge grin on his face. They’re both already shirtless, so in no time at all they’re just in briefs and Richie angles his hips into Eddie’s to grind their cocks together through the fabric. Collective moans escape them both, breathing into each other's mouths, foreheads pressed together as they dry hump like this. This cruelly desperate imitation of fucking that has Eddie’s head spinning. Eddie feels like he’s going to  _ die _ because their cocks aren’t  _ really  _ touching, but the desperation somehow makes it hotter.

He was a little bit self conscious, knowing his dick is only about half the size of Richie’s, but somehow they fit together perfectly like this. One of Richie’s hands reaches down to cup Eddie’s ass to grind into him harder and he breathes out a quiet  _ “fuck” _ and Eddie just can’t believe  _ his _ body is making Richie feel that good. His own voice is getting high-pitched and raspy as he tries to keep it down so the rest of the house won’t make comments about this in the morning.

“Here, wait,” Richie is saying, carefully sliding his long arm around Eddie’s lower back. He lifts Eddie up as he sits back and perches Eddie onto his lap. “How’s this?”

“So good,” Eddie breathes, immediately dipping his tongue into Richie’s mouth and thrusting his hips into Richie’s while Richie kneads his ass. They start moving fluidly, relishing in the way their cocks feel against each other as Richie lets Eddie grind into him, but something starts to happen the closer Eddie gets.

He’s not entirely sure why, but whenever Eddie has been ridiculously horny, his fangs start coming out and he has to control himself. He feels them jutting against the inside of his lip just as he pulls his face away from Richie’s, pressing Richie’s face into his neck — partially to get Richie to bite him some more, but mostly so  _ he _ doesn’t bite Richie  _ like that. _

Richie’s nibbling on his neck as he reaches a hand between them and fumbles for the slit in Eddie’s shorts. Eddie gasps when he feels Richie’s palm on him, pulling his cock out, and he has to grip Richie’s hair tightly to stop himself from whining too loudly. Richie pulls him in tighter and wraps his large hand around both of their bare cocks to start stroking them together.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie gasps, involuntarily bucking his hips into Richie’s hand. “Fuck, Richie—”

“I gotcha, baby,” Richie whispers, his breath hot on Eddie’s ear before he bites down on his earlobe.

Eddie is terribly worried he’s going to scream or bite or  _ something, _ having not been this close with Richie before now. His head is starting to spin as he’s reaching orgasm. Without thinking too much about it, he squeezes his arms around Richie’s shoulders and just as he’s coming he bites down onto his arm, moaning into his flesh and blood while his dick is spilling into Richie’s hand. It’s not until Richie comes, his hand still pumping Eddie’s sensitive cock against his own, that Eddie is brought back to life and stops drinking himself.

“Shit.”

“Eds?” 

Richie’s voice is full of concern, but Eddie is in full blown  _ panic _ now, because he has no way to  _ explain this _ yet. As Richie tries to pull Eddie up to look at him, Eddie is quick to fling himself off of Richie’s lap, throwing himself onto his blood-dripping arm and hiding his face before Richie can see his fangs.

“Richie, get me a towel,” Eddie squeaks, cradling his arm and cupping his hand beneath it to stop blood from dripping onto Richie’s sheets.

“Eddie, are you ok? Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have—”

“Rich, I’m fine! Please, just get a towel, I have -- snot on my face.”

There’s a pause and Eddie can practically feel Richie’s look of confusion staring at the back of his head. “Snot…?”

“Yes, it’s embarrassing, please get me a towel.”

Richie sighs, giving Eddie’s thigh an affectionate squeeze as he shimmies off of the bed. That was really fucking weird to say, but Eddie will make sure Richie knows he’s ok when he gets back. He  _ has  _ to clean up this blood first. This is not the way Richie is going to find out he’s a blood-thirsty little freak. 

Once the door is gently shut, Eddie sits up and starts lapping up all the evidence, drinking up every drop of blood he sees. His palm is pooling with it, so he slurps it up quickly before it can spill out the sides of his hand. It’s not nearly as good as when he drinks from Mike, but the taste of himself starts getting him into a bit of a frenzy. Eddie’s orgasm high seems to still be pulsating through him — or maybe that’s just what the blood drinking feels like. 

A large trail is slowly pouring down to his elbow, so Eddie laps his tongue up the length of his arm, letting out a shameless groan.

“Eds?”

Eddie freezes — his tongue still pressed against his skin, looking up at where Richie is standing wide-eyed in the doorway. 

“What — what are you doing?”

Eddie blinks, slowly lowering his arm and licking the blood off the front of his fangs. “Couldn’t wait for the towel.”

*******

Mike was kind enough to lend Richie some old books. When Eddie had told Richie, he was surprised to learn that Richie’s worst fear — or at least the one bothering him in the present — was not Eddie being a creature in need of drinking blood. He asked Eddie if this meant he would end up being alone.

“What do you mean?” Eddie had asked.

“When we all die,” Richie clarified. “You’re not going to have anyone anymore.”

“Well, I won’t… I mean, I don’t  _ know _ how this aging thing works. I’m sure it’s  _ harder  _ for me to die, but… don’t you think a completely immortal person would be pretty hard to hide from the world?”

“I guess…”

“I wouldn’t want to live forever without you guys, anyway. What would be the point?”

Richie gave him a strange, calculating look then. He had cupped Eddie’s cheek and kissed him softly, almost hesitant. “So what, then? What do we do in five years? Ten?”

“Why are we thinking about that  _ now?” _

“We’ll have to at some point, Eds… I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Eddie felt his heart plummet.  _ “Wanted? _ Like, past tense?  _ Why? _ Richie, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too!”

“How?” His voice was soft, but it hit Eddie like a ton of bricks.

_ How? _

How does Eddie ask Richie to spend possible eternity with him? In theory, it was ideal for lovers to want to spend such a life together. But realistically, what was Eddie asking of Richie if he were to suggest such a thing?  _ Realistically,  _ eternity together should have been  _ maybe _ eighty or ninety years. Not to mention there usually wasn’t any blood-drinking involved. Eddie doesn’t even entirely understand what he  _ would _ be asking Richie to give up by staying with him like this.

After a few days, Eddie’s anxiety begins getting the best of him. Ben is leaving Derry soon, so a lot of their time was occupied hanging out with their friends in their large group. Mike is still on the fence about leaving, terrified they’ll all forget about each other and Derry once no one is left behind. They still had to focus on their own move and Richie’s parents were usually helping them pack up. 

Eddie knows he’s being selfish, but he doesn’t want to think about any of those things when this is hanging over his head. They had never brought it up again after the night Richie found out. When Richie surprises Eddie by taking him out to dinner one night, he accepts with pure and utter confusion.

“Rich, you, uh, know I don’t  _ eat, _ right?” Eddie asks Richie quietly as they’re waiting to be seated.

“Don’t worry. I got it covered.”

“Covered?”

Eddie doesn’t have to wait long before they’re seated in their booth and the hostess closes privacy curtains, shielding them from sight of other onlookers.

“No one will notice you’re not eating,” Richie explains with a smile, taking a look at his menu. “I, on the other hand, have built up quite the appetite for whatever food I’m ordering for the both of us…”

“That’s awfully considerate.” Eddie twiddles his thumbs together, watching Richie anxiously from across the table. He wants Richie to talk to him, but he’s also terrified of what Richie is going to say. He wants to go back and listen to Richie’s stupid mixtape  _ before _ any of this other complicated nonsense.

“I’m really going to miss sushi,” Richie sighs, taking a sip of his water as he lays the menu down.

“I’m sure there will be plenty of sushi in New York, Richie. I mean, it’s kind of famous for having so many restaurants you can eat at a different place every day for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah. Shame we won’t be able to do that.”

“Well,  _ I _ won’t,” Eddie says quietly, but Richie chuckles.

“No, we won’t,” he replies, twirling the straw in his drink. “I’ve been… thinking. A lot. And I… I think I want to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Become a vampire,” Richie shrugs casually.

Delight and apprehension web together in Eddie all at once. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Not right away,” Richie says decidedly. “I just… I mean, obviously I love you and if you’re willing to fuck me when I’m eighty when I’m looking like  _ that, _ I’d be more than happy. But we’ve been through so much supernatural shit together already, and you’re, like — my forever person. Maybe forever enough where we can see a time people won’t look at us like a couple of fags down the street. And if you’re gonna go through this then… I want to, too; right by your side. I just want some human time first.”

“Human time. Right. Of course.” Eddie can’t stop the ecstatic build up in his body, like happy little bubbles tickling his insides and making him all giddy.  _ My forever person. _

“It should be easy enough, but… I can’t obviously be a comedian anymore. I could always get into voice acting. Work for a radio station. Places people won’t have to see my face. Can’t let my face get famous. Which, honestly, is such a shame for the ladies—”

“Richie.”

“Sorry,” Richie laughs apologetically. “The more we learn, the better. You said you don’t really know how the lifespan really is yet. I mean, regardless, I’m still going to do it. But it would be helpful for you to have a human hand helping out while we figure a life of this together, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie nods excitedly, unable to stop himself from sitting up on his knees in the booth. He’s small enough to get away with sitting like this, as ridiculous as it is. “No, I get it. It… it’s not  _ that _ different, so far, but… it’s been, like, a month, so…”

“You’re not really much different,” Richie agrees quietly. “What else has changed besides the blood?”

“I’m sensitive to the sun,” Eddie tells him. “But, obviously I’ve been able to go outside. It just makes me feel really tired. Feels more human.”

Richie freezes briefly, narrowing his eyes as he says, “As opposed to what?”

“I mostly just feel stronger,” Eddie explains, which seems to relax Richie a bit. “My hearing and eyesight are phenomenal now — hey, you won’t need your glasses anymore!”

“Thank Christ,” Richie laughs. “I might get those fake ones without a prescription for the aesthetic, but not being able to see without them  _ sucks.  _ Well, I guess I’ll have to… _ suck _ if I’m going to be a vampire.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“And you’re stuck with an eternity of fangtastic vampire puns,” Richie grins at him.

“Oh my  _ god. _ Please, can you cut them down to like, one a week, for my sake?”

“You mean for your  _ stake? _ I wouldn’t —  _ count  _ — on it, ha ha ha,” Richie slow-laughs in an awful ‘Transylvanian’ accent  à la Sesame Street’s The Count, and Eddie is groaning into his hands. “Maybe if you  _ bat _ your eyes at me, I’ll consider it, gorgeous.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Eddie chuckles, unable to suppress his smile.

“So does blood still taste like… blood?” Richie asks. 

“Mm, not really,” Eddie muses. “Drinking it is a lot more like… a really good meal. It’s just really satisfying. I don’t really miss food.”

“You never really ate it though,” Richie mutters a little sadly. “Not  _ well,  _ anyway. I’m getting a bit heartbroken over not enjoying my mom’s cooking anymore… How come you can drink your own blood?”

“I mean, it’s still blood, right? I  _ shouldn’t _ do it, because it’s like… you know, drinking your own piss in the wild or something.”

Richie makes a face that makes Eddie wish he made a different comparison, but the waitress is back to take Richie’s order. While they wait for food, Eddie gets more and more excited talking to Richie about all of this and it doesn’t seem so bad again. He’s back to feeling happy and feeling free and open. 

“Could we just drink from each other? I mean, if you turned me into one, we’d both need to drink.”

“Probably not all the time. I’m obviously not an expert. We can’t eat animals though. Has to be human.”

“Vampires count as human then?” There’s something odd about the way Richie says it and it makes Eddie a bit anxious.

“Well, I… do you not think I am?” he asks nervously.

“Of course I do,” Richie assures him. It makes Eddie feel a little better. He doesn’t want Richie to compare him to the  _ actual _ monster that attacked Eddie upstate. “Why’d you drink after we fooled around?”

“Oh, uh… sometimes my fangs can get hard to control when I’m horny,” Eddie says sheepishly.

Richie blinks at him, looking almost comically incredulous as his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. He pops a piece of sushi into his mouth and shoves them back up with his finger. “Probably best we get that under control before you put your mouth on my dick.”

After dinner, they decide they don’t really want to go home yet. Richie drives the Daewoo over to the quarry, turning his headlights off and letting the car settle in the quiet darkness. Now that Eddie doesn’t have to deal with his mother, he’s not afraid to ask Richie to try his weed, so they crawl into the backseat and light up a joint while David Bowie plays on Richie’s radio. He’s not even sure if this shit is supposed to work on a vampire, but he wants to give it a shot, anyway.

Surprisingly, Eddie does start to feel something, humming in the back of his mind. He’s getting giggly and Richie just looks relaxed, sinking down into the middle seat with his long legs spread on either side of the center console. After he throws his roach out the window, he leaves it open just a crack, leaning his head back. His neck is exposed, so Eddie leans forward and kisses it, making Richie giggle.

“That tickles. Is that how you’re going to get me into a dark alley and bite my neck? Bat those pretty lashes and offer me kisses?”

“Mmm. We should make out in your car,” Eddie whispers, crawling into Richie’s lap to straddle him. “We never got to do that in high school.”

“I’ve had this car for like five months,” Richie chuckles, lifting his arms up so Eddie can peel his shirt off. “Although prom would’ve been a lot more exciting if I could’ve taken your pants off.”

Eddie tosses his own shirt aside and Richie is looking up at him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes behind his glasses, a dopey smile on his face. He just looks so  _ smitten _ with Eddie all the time and Eddie doesn’t always feel so deserving of it. This calmer Richie unnerves Eddie a little bit. He’s happy to see this side of Richie, lovestruck and sweet, but Eddie misses aspects of Richie from  _ before _ that he wants to bleed into their relationship. He misses pervy and extra silly Richie, and he wants Richie to tell him all the things he  _ really  _ wants to do with Eddie. Things he wouldn’t be afraid to do if the  _ incident _ hadn’t happened. 

“What would you have done to me on prom night?” Eddie asks coyly, running his index finger down Richie’s chest. “If I let you?”

Richie looks like he’s about to say something before stopping himself and just smiles up at Eddie again. “Everything we’ve been doing now. Kissing you. Touching you.”

“That can’t be  _ all _ you want to do.”

“It’s all I need, Eds.”

Eddie can’t stop himself from feeling frustrated— not by Richie’s lack of wanting to do anything, but his sheer refusal to admit there  _ is  _ more he wants to do. “So if I were to look at your porn magazines, I’d find just a bunch of  _ smooching?” _

“Eds,” Richie sighs, looking a little tired as he rubs up and down Eddie’s sides. “I’m in no rush to do anything. I promise. Considering you’re gonna have an eighteen year old dick for the rest of your life, I don’t see why you’d be in a rush, either.”

“I just don’t want to be ashamed of myself for wanting things anymore,” Eddie admits quietly, tracing circles on the skin of Richie’s chest. 

“I’m not trying to make you feel ashamed, Eds. I just don’t want you to regret anything. It’s the same reason I wanna wait for you to… you know, turn me. I know I want it, but waiting a bit isn’t going to hurt.”

Eddie can understand that, but he still feels a longing, a  _ need _ from deep inside of him. The logical part of his brain knows it’s not a  _ real _ need, it’s not something he’ll die without, but his  _ wanting _ is so powerful now. He’s not annoyed at Richie, but maybe he’s annoyed a bit by how much he wants this. He’s definitely annoyed that something is making Richie think Eddie would  _ ever _ regret doing anything with him. Eddie has so much trust in Richie, so wholly and deeply, that he’d let Richie hold his literal heart in his hands. 

“You won’t hurt me either,” Eddie says quietly. As he speaks, he feels his brain buzzing quietly and he wonders if it’s from the weed or something else. He only knows it’s not his anxiety, because it’s pleasant and warm and wraps his thoughts in a cozy embrace. He looks up at Richie directly, wishing he could see more of the blue in Richie’s eyes in the darkness of the car. “You won’t do anything to me I won’t like, Richie. I want to have sex with you; I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

Eddie’s still thinking about all the things he wants Richie to show him as leans forward. He feels his lips gently brush against Richie’s before one of Richie’s hands is fisting the back of his head. Eddie automatically lets out a yelp, reaching up to where Richie has a tight grip on him.

“Ri-Richie—?!”

“Whatever I want is dangerous, sweetheart,” Richie growls, pulling Eddie’s head to the side to expose his neck. “You have no idea what filthy things I think about you.”

Eddie can’t help the whimper that he elicits. His heart is racing and genuine fear is finally awakened in him. “What — what kinds of things?” 

He cries out again when Richie grabs him roughly and twists Eddie’s body around. He’s thrown forward and his chest smacks the top of the middle console. He doesn’t get a second to react before Richie is leaning over him, hand in Eddie’s hair again and yanking his head back. His other hand reaches around Eddie’s throat and Eddie knows he can just rip Richie off of him  _ so easily, _ but he doesn’t, and lets his body bend to Richie’s will, because he  _ wants _ it to.

“I want to make you scream,” Richie hisses in Eddie’s ear. “I want you crying and begging for my cock. I want to fuck that tight little cunt between your legs until you can’t think straight.” 

He squeezes Eddie’s throat tighter, constricting his airflow and forcing Eddie’s pulse to pound in his ears. He feels his dick hardening against the plastic beneath him. He can definitely still feel pain, but this is  _ not _ quite the reaction Eddie expected to get from it. He doesn’t want to fight back; he just wants Richie to crush his windpipe  _ harder. _ So when Richie growls, “Tell me how badly you want it,” Eddie is nodding furiously and gasping, “I want it I want you to fuck me so bad.”

Richie releases the harsh grip in Eddie’s hair and lets Eddie’s head smack back down. He whines when Richie rips his shorts off, exposing everything for Richie’s view behind him. A heat of pleasurable humiliation overcomes him, but he doesn’t want Richie to  _ not _ look at him. When Eddie hears Richie undoing his jeans, he becomes frantic again, thinking about the size of the cock that Richie’s about to ram into him.

“Richie, wait!” he cries. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for because he knows it’s going to hurt regardless and he has no idea how to prepare for this. Instead of replying, Richie  _ spits, _ right between Eddie’s cheeks and starts rubbing two fingers around Eddie’s hole. 

In the back of Eddie’s mind, he knows he’s been touched there before, but this is the first time he’s been comprehensive and aware and  _ wanting _ of it.He can’t stop himself from pressing his hand up against the dash in front of him so he can push himself back onto Richie’s fingers. The radio makes a crunching noise as it cracks under Eddie’s strength and the music is cut off. Now all Eddie can hear is his own grunting as Richie starts fucking two fingers into him. The burning is melding into pleasure as Richie stretches him out with more spit. 

“Your ass is so fucking tight,” Richie breaths in awe behind him as his fingers continue to abuse Eddie’s hole. “Gotta get you ready for me, baby. Gotta get you stretched out.”

“Hurry,” Eddie hears himself whine,  _ begging, _ and he braces himself for Richie breaching a third finger in, merciless with his quick movements. Eddie’s head is spinning and all he can get out is little  _ ah’s _ and moans. His hands reach for something,  _ anything, _ to grip onto so he doesn’t risk throwing Richie off of him. His fingers dig right into the fabric of the passenger's seat beside him, tearing under his fingertips. 

Richie palms Eddie’s asscheeks with both hands, spreading them out. Eddie can’t see his face but his skin flushes knowing that Richie’s gaze is on his opening, gaping hole. It’s fucking exhilerating putting his trust and body in Richie’s hands like this. Richie spits into it once more for good measure, rubbing the saliva in with the pads of his thumbs. He drops a leg on Eddie’s side, mounting behind him as the head of his dick presses the warm spot between Eddie’s legs.

“You’re gonna take my cock like a good boy,” Richie says as he grips the sides of Eddie’s hips. “Just lay there and fucking take it.”

Eddie feels an instinctive need to listen and do what Richie says, trying to hold still until Richie shoves his cock into him without hesitation. Second by second, inch by inch, Richie fucks deeper until he bottoms out and is pounding his hips into Eddie’s ass. Eddie reactively tries to pull away, reaching up to hold onto something and rips the rearview mirror off from the roof when Richie forces his head back down. Richie lays a hand flat on Eddie’s back to keep him still, the other wrapped around the back of Eddie’s neck to just fuck into him like a ragdoll. 

It hurts, it fucking  _ hurts,  _ taking it all at once so suddenly, but Eddie hasn’t felt anything this fucking thrilling in his life. A floaty, high sensation is spreading throughout his body, all the way into the tips of his toes and his fingers. All other thoughts have evacuated his mind as it melts into this deep pleasure blossoming inside of him, where Richie is buried so deep into Eddie, parts Eddie didn’t even know  _ existed _ until the head of Richie’s cock reaches them. Something hot and electric is building there and it’s sending direct signals to his dick; it’s never been this hard before and it hasn’t even been  _ touched. _ He probably won’t need it to be, because whatever  _ that _ is hiding in his ass is on  _ fire. _

Amongst the pain and the pleasure swirling around in Eddie’s dizzy head, all he wants to do is lay here and  _ take it, _ do whatever Richie asks of him, let Richie keep fucking and hurting him like this, because it doesn’t even hurt like hurt  _ should, _ not the way Eddie knows its supposed to. Richie twists Eddie’s arm and holds it on the small of his back and even the twisting of his limbs sends adrenaline and waves of pleasure through Eddie’s body. His body goes completely limp and Richie is holding him so still that he does just  _ take it,  _ held in place and taking Richie’s cock as deep as it’ll go while Eddie can’t —  _ won’t  _ — move.

Without warning, Richie reaches around and grabs Eddie’s throat again and all Eddie can do is babble and cry incomprehensibly. His back is arched as Richie holds his head up against his shoulder and grunting right in his ear as he keeps fucking Eddie into the hard center console, bruising his hip bones.

“You’re taking it so fucking well, baby,” Richie pants. “Wish you could watch my fat cock disappearing in your tight little cunt like this; see how your tiny body is taking it all.” He grabs one of Eddie’s hands and holds it to Eddie’s stomach, pressing both their hands down flat. Eddie can  _ feel _ it there, pushing out against his belly with each of Richie’s thrusts, his body having to make room just to fit all of Richie inside of him. He’s in  _ awe _ that he can take all of it, too, that he can enjoy this so much, and it makes him swell with pride to hear Richie’s praise, as if he were fucking  _ practicing _ or  _ trying _ for this. 

“I wanna watch I wanna watch you fucking me,” Eddie cries, feeling tears spilling down his cheeks at the intense sensations his body is adjusting to. 

Richie complies immediately, throwing Eddie into the back seat and climbing between his legs. Eddie whimpers at the brief emptiness when Richie pulls out to adjust their position, holding over on top of Eddie to shimmy between Eddie’s legs. Eddie tries to brace himself again, reaching above his head and gripping the edge of the open window, but it only shatters in his grip and he falls back roughly into the seat. Richie pays no mind to it, pressing his hand down into Eddie’s chest to hold him still.

It’s too familiar — this position where Eddie’s is pinned down onto his back and someone is holding him, pushing him down by the center, but Eddie can’t feel himself being overcome with the trauma of it. Instead of sending him into shock, this new experience washes over the old memory and Eddie only feels Richie and the good feelings rolling into him from their bodies thrusting together like this. It’s a silly thought to pop into Eddie’s head, but he feels Richie on top of him and inside of him and thinks that this is so much more powerful because Richie is  _ his, _ and he is Richie’s.

Richie slides his hand up to Eddie’s throat again, small bits of glass from the shattered window crunching under his grip. He’s fucking Eddie’s ass with vigor and Eddie feels the floaty feeling coming back. His eyes are locked in that space there where Richie’s cock is disappearing in and out of him with the quick thrusts and it looks fucking  _ impossible, _ but there it fucking is, and the head of Richie’s dick ghosts up against the inside of Eddie’s stomach where Eddie can see it bulging out. It really makes Eddie feel like something  _ belonging  _ to Richie in a weird way and it’s sending pleasant flutters into his chest.

As if he was able to read Eddie’s thoughts, Richie growls down at him, “You’re fucking all mine. No one else’s.”

“I’m yours,” Eddie chokes out, nodding in Richie’s grasp and letting tears spill down his cheeks; letting Richie have his body any way Richie wants, going completely limp in his grasp. “I’m all yours.”

“I’m gonna come in you, baby. You gonna come for me?”

Eddie nods again and practically feels his body reacting to Richie’s words as a command, as if he had been waiting for  _ permission, _ the pull of his orgasm tightening in his belly. He can smell Richie’s sweat and blood pulsating beneath his skin and it’s driving him mad. With Richie’s hand still squeezing his throat, Eddie pulls Richie down by the hair and sinks his teeth into his supple skin just as his orgasm hits. Blood is spilling down his chin as he comes all over his stomach, moaning animalistically as his brain explodes with the pleasurable taste and sensations inside of him. Richie’s body shudders against him, coming deep in his ass and Eddie finally lets himself fall back down onto the seat.

It’s the most satiated he’s ever felt in his life, laying there sticky with Richie’s blood and his cum all over him. It takes him a good minute to catch his breath, but a grin is spreading on his face while he assesses the tingles still grazing along his skin.

“Holy  _ shit,”  _ Eddie laughs, feeling a bit light-headed and dazed. His mind — and ass — have just been opened up and he feels  _ fantastic. _ He blinks up at Richie, who is staring at him with a blank expression as his own blood is slowly cascading down his bare chest. “Hey, Rich?”

Richie doesn’t reply, so Eddie snaps his fingers at him. Eddie leans up onto his elbows and briefly sees Richie’s eyes for the first time since they started —  _ they’re all black. _ Eddie gasps just as the darkness shrinks back into Richie’s pupils and the bright blue is shining back down at Eddie, wide in shock.

_ “Eds?” _ Richie croaks. “Eds, oh — oh fucking  _ god.” _

Oh no. Oh no no  _ no. _

He could see so well through Richie’s eyes and was brought back to that moment he caught his own reflection back at the doctor’s office. The pure evil he saw staring back at him as his hatred for his own mother captivated him and veiled his good natured face. It’s exactly what Richie’s face conveyed now, staring into the  _ horror _ at something  _ monstrous.  _

“Rich — Richie,” Eddie says soothingly as Richie starts to shake and hyperventilate. “Richie, look at me! You’re ok! I didn’t drink that much!”

“What did I just  _ do to you?” _ Richie cries, pushing himself until his back was up against the car door opposite Eddie. “Oh my god, I just fucking hurt you—”

Oh no. This is worse. This is  _ so much worse _ than Eddie first interpreted. Richie wasn’t disgusted by  _ Eddie;  _ he was disgusted in  _ himself.  _ Worse still, over something he had no control over. 

“Nonono!” Eddie stammers, crawling over to Richie. Richie pulls his legs up to his chest, sobbing as he cradles his legs. “Richie, I’m fine! Richie, I swear, I’m ok!”

“No you’re not,” Richie sobs, throwing his hand out to gesture towards Eddie’s body. “Look at you!”

True, Eddie is covered in blood and glass, but that’s  _ his _ fault and he tries to tell that to Richie, but all Richie’s eyes can focus on is the bruises on Eddie’s chest and hips and face.

“They’re already fading!” Eddie tries to tell him. “See, look! Your blood will help them heal up!”

“I fucking  _ hurt _ you, Eddie!”

“Not on purpose! Well, not — it was  _ kind of  _ on purpose, but only because I wanted you to! I swear, Rich, look at me.” Eddie peels Richie’s hands from his tear-streaked face and forces his face up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “Richie, I did this to  _ you. _ I mean, by — by accident. The thing that attacked me upstate, he — he kind of hypnotised me and I think I accidentally just did it to you. If anything  _ I  _ made you do this, Richie, I’m sorry.”

“But what did you ask?” Richie says roughly.  _ “Do whatever you want to me. _ That’s what you said. So obviously, I -- I  _ wanted  _ to do this to you…”

“And that’s ok!” Eddie exclaims desperately. “Richie, I  _ asked _ you to! You listened to me and did what I wanted you to! I liked it, I swear to god, I did!”

But Richie just shakes his head, inconsolable. He can’t look directly up at Eddie again, hiding his face in his hands as he continues to cry. “I can’t do this, Eds.”

Eddie’s chest constricts tightly, suddenly feeling very cold. “Can’t do what, Richie?”

“You haven’t even turned me yet and I’m already a monster. How much worse will I get?”

It makes Eddie irrationally angry, ripping Richie’s hands from his face again. “You’re not a fucking monster, Richie. Stop doing this to yourself. Don’t you dare compare yourself to the guy that did this to me.  _ I’m  _ the one that should be ashamed. I  _ asked _ you to do this.”

“To do what  _ I _ wanted,” Richie says again. “I can’t ever keep my fucking hands to myself.”

“You knew it felt good,” Eddie tries again. “I also told you not to do anything I wouldn’t like, and you didn’t. I fucking  _ begged _ for it, Richie. For fucks sake, you’re covered in blood and I wrecked your car; which one of us do you really think is the monster here?”

Richie doesn’t answer, but his silence is telling enough to break Eddie’s heart. Eddie takes a minute to let them both breath, assessing the actual damage around them. The car is pretty fucked; half the shit in here is broken and blood is going to stain the seats, but it can be fixed. Eddie’s body will heal. But he doesn’t know what to say to make Richie believe the truth; that he’s  _ not _ a bad person for this. All the good feelings that Eddie was drowning in just moments ago have been drained and he’s left feeling hollow. He can’t even imagine how Richie feels.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that never happens again,” Eddie tells him softly. “I’m so sorry, Richie. If I knew you weren’t… I swear, if I knew, I would’ve asked you to stop. And you  _ would have. _ You would’ve stopped if I asked.”

Richie is still silent, but he lets Eddie crawl into his lap, wrapping his long legs around Eddie’s body and holding him close to his chest, despite his own blood drying down his torso.

“I’m sorry I bit you.”

“S’ok,” Richie says roughly, his voice hoarse from crying. “You didn’t mean to.” Thankfully, his arms squeeze tightly around Eddie’s waist and he holds Eddie firmly, nuzzling his face into Eddie’s hair. “I don’t want to hurt you, Eddie.”

“Even if I want it?”

There’s a pause as Richie sighs beneath him, reaching up to pet a hand through Eddie’s hair. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell the difference.”

Eddie thinks about that for a moment. “That’s fair. But if we just… maybe talk about it more. Stop being so careful with how you speak with me so we can be honest with each other. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m broken because of what happened. Or  _ delicate,” _ he adds with an air of distaste, thinking of his mother again. “Don’t ever treat me like I’m delicate.”

He feels Richie brush his bangs back and plant a soft kiss against his forehead, resting his cheek on top of Eddie’s head. “I’ll try, Eds. I just want you to be happy.”

“That’s all I ask, Richie; and I’ll do the same for you.” He’s still sad and he still feels like absolute shit for all of this, but Eddie can’t help but smile just a bit, even as one of Richie’s tears falls onto his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Richie get his Daewoo fixed?  
> Will Sonia ever come back into the picture?  
> Who’s POV will the next chapter be in?  
> Tune in next time to find out!
> 
> Here's some lyrics from the song I titled this chapter from:
> 
> If I said it, I meant it  
> I'm not really demented  
> I'm just saying it's been said again and again  
> Not that I'm all that grounded  
> I'm already dumbfounded  
> I'm a liar believe me, baby  
> Well it's all that you are  
> You're just one shining star  
> Well that's all that you are  
> Maybe everything's changed  
> And maybe I stayed the same  
> What does it matter to me now, anyway  
> If I ever regret it  
> If I'm ever repentant  
> Karma sings and we'll dance the dance, baby


	7. Woe is Me, Weary Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for returning <3 we're getting a little change in POV in this chapter, mostly introspective
> 
> also the chapter title is from All is Well by Austin Basham and they're quite lovely and resonate a lot of emotions Richie is feeling. I'll leave a little taste<3
> 
> But lord, you know it's true/I only want to be with you  
> Cause all your love/I left it at the door  
> Don't stop the skies/Let them rain/Let them pour  
> *  
> Don't stop your heart/Let it rain/Let it pour  
> *  
> Don't stop these tears/Let them rain/Let them pour/Oh, let them pour  
> *  
> Woe is me/Weary soul/Heeding grief  
> Your love in my heart/Feels like the ocean breeze
> 
> cw/tw;://**contains spoilers**//internalized anxiety and self-hatred, mentions of child abuse, mentions of scars from horrific child abuse, alcoholism, brief mention of domestic violence, mention of rehab for drinking, struggles with mental illness, intrusive thoughts, mention of blood, mention of death****//

************************

When Richie was younger, he and his sister rescued a stray that was stuck in the boards beneath their porch in the dead of winter. They named her Peach after his parents agreed to let them keep the skittish thing. Small Richie was a ball of excitement, scaring her into hiding anytime he chased her through the living room and jumped out from the corners to try and catch her and force her to let him pet her. 

Maggie had to sit him down and remind him that the poor cat was not a plaything; he had to respect her boundaries, just like his parents always reminded him when he roughhoused too much with his friends.

It took several weeks and all of Richie’s mental effort leaving her alone. He turned his interests in the house to his NES or movies. While watching Saturday morning cartoons one day, he was surprised when, for the first time since they rescued her, Peach came up to him on her own accord. 

Richie sat unbearably still, bewildered as she placed her tiny paws on his lap and started to lick at his chin. Not knowing what else to do, Richie figured it would be safe to pull her into his arms after a while, thinking she had grown to trust him. Instead, she screeched and swiped her paw across his face.

Richie is very much reminded of that moment now, after he told Eddie he could — _finish_ whatever was left of Richie’s blood dripping down his neck and chest. Just as he should’ve done then, Richie is sitting as still as he can, letting Eddie lap around his skin and gently suck on the nap of his neck, careful to not startle Eddie while he has his _fangs_ out.

“Ya all done?” Richie squeaks, watching Eddie sit up in his lap with a tired smile. He moves to touch the bite marks on his neck, surprised how clean and dry his skin is, not a trace of blood left. He’s a little lightheaded, but he's not entirely sure if it's due to blood loss or not.

Eddie hums pleasantly, smiling up at him as he wraps his arms around Richie’s neck. It’s odd to watch the black of his eyes shrink down into his pupils, but it’s still hard to see the warm, welcoming brown in the darkness. 

“So is this… it?” Richie asks quietly. “Am I gonna turn now?”

“Huh? Oh, no. No, you’d have to drink my blood after.”

“Oh,” Richie sighs in relief. “That’s… good. I’m not changing my mind, I just… want the preparation.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie assures him, just smiling sleepily and snuggling into Richie’s chest. He seems almost dazed or drunk, like the blood has intoxicated him now that it’s filled his system. 

They dress and decide to make their way back home. Or, _Richie_ decides, since Eddie is still a bit out of it. Richie is forced to drive in the silence, since Eddie basically _crushed_ Richie’s radio with his tiny, powerful fist. He absentmindedly goes to readjust his rearview mirror, forgetting that Eddie had broken that, too. The passenger seat is all torn up from Eddie clawing at it, the back window shattered, blood and glass scattered in the back all over.

“We can say it was a racoon,” Richie says about halfway back. “Or, two racoons maybe. Explain all the blood in the back.”

“Mmm, good idea.” 

Richie looks over at Eddie beside him and sees that Eddie is prodding around his body in areas Richie knows, now _remembers_ seeing bruises on — marks that he’s very aware _he_ caused. His stomach tightens as he asks, “Does it hurt a lot?”

“No,” Eddie sighs, sounding… _disappointed._ “The blood healed up all the bruises pretty quickly.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“I guess,” Eddie _huffs_ now. “They felt kind of nice.”

 _“Nice?”_ Richie intones with a cocked eyebrow. 

Eddie doesn’t look up at him, staring straight ahead through the windshield. Then, he whispers quietly, “I’m sorry I did that Richie. But please don’t make me feel gross for liking it. I don’t need another Sonia telling me I’m disgusting.”

And that, _that_ stings, like his chest has been jabbed with an acid-tipped poker. “I don’t think you’re disgusting, Eddie…”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Eddie says rather firmly. Decidedly.

So Richie drops it. 

But he can’t stop _thinking_ about it. Ruminating over it.

_Disgusting._

Richie had a lot of fears. Many of them became literal manifestations in front of his eyes, years ago when he was terrorized by some sort of _space creature_ that could penetrate all of the darkest nightmares of his mind. The clown was gone, but most of Richie’s fears hadn’t changed. Even now that he had Eddie. Even now that Eddie was a _vampire._

After all these years, nothing has changed. If anything, they’ve gotten worse; and it has nothing to do with Eddie. 

Wentworth Tozier had always been an astute man. When Eddie and Richie came home that night, Richie could tell his father just _sensed_ something off about them. He didn’t pry, but he did _question._ By the way Eddie was acting, his parents may have assumed Eddie was a bit tipsy, but Richie got him into bed with no trouble. After Eddie fell dead asleep, drained by stupor, Richie laid awake with a burning desire to wake his father up and just… what, _talk?_ Anything that would help without terrifying Eddie further. 

Sleep was restless and Richie found himself crawling out from the covers to shower at a decent hour in the morning. By the time he went downstairs, Wentworth and Maggie were already up, sharing a pot of coffee and _holding hands_ on the tabletop. Like they’re hopeless teens in love and haven’t been married for over twenty years. Normally, Richie would pretend to gag, but he just didn’t have it in him this morning.

“Mornin’, sport,” Wentworth bellows at Richie once he walks into the kitchen.

“Mornin’, old chap,” Richie replies, although absent of enthusiasm. 

As if taking a silent hint, Maggie leans to kiss Went on the cheek and excuses herself to her azalea’s outside. Richie takes her spot at the table, not hesitating to steal whatever is left of her coffee; she makes it just as light and sweet as he likes.

“What are you and _Eds_ up to today?” his father asks.

“Packing, I guess,” Richie shrugs.

“Why don’t you take a break from all of that? And… don’t take this the wrong way, but why don’t you take a little break from Eddie? Let’s have a guys afternoon; you and me.”

“Perfect. I’ve got some singles for the new strip club in Bangor.”

“Men’s or women’s?”

“Take your pick.”

“Well, Mags told me someone helicoptered his dick at her at a bachelorette party once,” Wentworth muses, making Richie choke on his hot drink. “I don’t think I could unsee that.”

“Oh my god, you two are disgusting,” Richie grimaces, knowing he has _no_ right to talk and he is ten times worse than his parents. Although, to be fair, he’s probably a lot like this because _they’re_ like this.

“Wanna just do a movie?” Went chuckles.

“Sure, Pops.”

While they were going to be out, Penelope and Maggie had agreed to go out as well, but this meant Eddie would be home by himself. This still made Richie uncomfortable, despite how well they had done keeping Sonia at bay.

“I can have Stan pick me up to hang out later or something. Maybe when it gets dark.”

“If you hear anything at all, call me,” Wentworth tells Eddie, flashing his boxy cellular phone at him. “The number is on the fridge.”

“You can always just shoot her at the doorstep,” Richie mutters. He knows his dad can’t hear him, but his heart does a little flip in his chest when Eddie snaps his head angrily at him. Right. _Vampire_ hearing.

Richie can’t pay attention for the entire length of the movie. Normally he was the kind of person to empty his bag of popcorn, but he had barely gotten a nibble in during the advertisements. His body felt uncomfortable the entire time and he’s starting to feel sick to his stomach waiting for his dad to buy some drinks from the convenience store.

“Where should we go?” Went asks. “The quarry?”

“God, no. Anywhere else,” Richie begs, not ready to revisit that place so soon after last night.

“You got it, bud,” Went smiles, taking the car out to the edge of town along the river.

It’s still incredibly bright from the intensity of the sunset. Richie wonders what this feels like for Eddie now, being in the hot sunlight. Richie never really cared for it too much; he preferred the indoors or the shade of the oak trees. He hated getting sand in his clothes at the beach and losing his glasses when he tried leaving them someplace before diving into the ocean. Most of his fondest childhood memories were outside with his friends, but that was all _kid_ stuff. 

Being inside most of the time, going out mostly at night, probably wouldn’t be so difficult now that he was an adult. A real adult, who would be going to _college_ and living in the city that never _slept._

Quite perfect for a vampire.

“Ready to crack open a cold one?” Went grins, handing Richie over a glass bottle.

Richie takes it. It’s just a Coke. His father always liked joking like this, getting a six-pack of classic Coke for them to share during their _guy time._ For all of Richie’s life, his father had never had an ounce of alcohol. The reason, Richie had come to find out, was because of his grandfather — _Wentworth’s_ father — Robert.

There weren’t many pleasant memories of Richie’s grandfather. In fact, there were barely any at all. As Richie got older, he learned that various marks on his father’s body had come to him from the horrific abuse of alcoholic Robert Tozier. 

Richie always figured that it was the reason he and his sister had never received so much as a _spanking_ from their parents, despite his school teachers _insisting_ he needed a stern _thwacking_ at home. With the patience of saints, they dealt with Richie’s childhood tantrums and hyperactivity with time and care, thankfully developing an understanding that most of it required _therapy,_ not beatings. 

The severe abuse Wentworth suffered as a child was also the reason that Richie figured his father never touched alcohol.

When Richie was around nine, he overheard his parents talking in the kitchen about his grandfather going on another _bender,_ landing himself in jail somewhere. In his old age, the stress of imprisonment resulted in his death. Wentworth cried, but Richie couldn’t really understand why, considering all he had heard of Wentworth talk about his Old Man. Richie thought Went _hated_ his father, and could not fathom how you could love someone whom you hated so much.

“It’s still his father, Richie,” Maggie tried to tell him patiently. “It’s complicated.”

As he did in all other inappropriate situations, Richie asked too many questions before, during, and after the funeral. His curiosity got the better of him and sent his mother to tears when Richie asked why he had to go to a funeral for a man who never even gave him Christmas presents.

Although he hadn’t been raised with him around, there were several things Richie had inherited thanks to his grandfather. An addictive personality, for sure; Richie couldn’t handle stress without a cigarette or a day without playing _some_ sort of video game. Poor eyesight was a staple of Tozier men, all the way down the line. The _odder_ thing Richie picked up was a fear; although, this fear originated more from Richie’s own strange inference.

Wentworth had explained to Richie what it was like growing up for him. How, many days, his dad could be a kind and patient man. But, just as the moon brought out the monster in a werewolf, so alcohol brought this horrible creature out of Robert Tozier.

As young Richie traced the scars on his father’s arm — scars that came from wicked beatings, burns, and _lashings_ — he could picture his grandfather as a literal monster. A normal man going through life and morphing into a horrific beast once the curse of liquor overtook him, clawing its large paws into the flesh of its victims with no control. It was why, when Richie became older, he feared such a thing so strongly.

Because Richie sometimes couldn’t help himself. Sometimes, he would just _do_ and not _think_ and felt like his body acted on impulse and _want_ rather than what was appropriate or safe. Teasing Eddie when they were kids seemed cute and fun at the time, but as he grew older, he began to understand the problem with being that way. It was _dangerous_ having those impulses, and not just because they lived in Derry and townsfolk would chase Richie off with a pitchfork if they could read his mind. That wasn’t the thing that put a pit in Richie’s stomach. It was dangerous because those actions were _predatory._

When they were little, Eddie couldn’t hide the scowl or his discomfort in Richie’s closeness, the way he’d reel back as Richie pinched his cheek and called him ‘cute!’ Despite knowing this, Richie would find himself excusing the way his hands would linger on the other boy, hoping that soothing his hands over Eddie’s shoulder would somehow ease the tension in his muscles, knowing deep down it was the _reason_ Eddie was tense.

Much like many of his other actions, though, Richie just couldn’t _help_ himself, and it made him sick, because it was no excuse. Would Eddie being his boyfriend make a difference if Richie was just acting without consent? Was Eddie just so accustomed to Richie doing this their entire lives, that he would just _let_ Richie do anything now, regardless of his own wants?

There was a terrible monster to be afraid of now.

It wasn’t Eddie. Richie’s fear wasn’t that Eddie was a creature who survived by drinking other people's blood. No, it was that Eddie might push Richie away once he saw what was within. Even if Richie never turned beneath a full moon or sprouted claws or fangs (yet), was he any better than the monster Eddie met the night he was turned? Both he and the creature had taken something innocent and violated its very _goodness,_ blisteringly cold grips around the warm center of Eddie’s heart until the light was squeezed out of it. 

“You are awfully quiet, Rich,” Wentworth says, finally pulling Richie out of his thoughts. “That’s not something I get to say very often.”

“Sorry,” Richie sighs, taking a sip of his soda. “I just… I have a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Richie drums his fingers on his knee for a moment, trying to find the words that won’t give anything too _elaborate_ away. “It’s a little weird.”

“Try me, kid.”

“Ok, well… I’m just thinking about something from ages ago, kind of. Like, when I was younger I used to have—” a shape-shifting clown stalk me, “— _nightmares_ … about werewolves.”

“Werewolves, huh?”

“Yeah,” Richie says a little sheepishly. “But not just _of_ werewolves, I would… _be_ a werewolf. I would be a monster. And even when I was awake, I kind of felt like one. I’d have all these awful thoughts and sometimes I still do. These dark things in my head that I can’t stop and… sometimes I kind of like.”

Richie doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job articulating, but Wentworth nods slowly as he stares off towards the river. “You know, Richie, we all have monsters in us. I think context and intent of why those monsters come out is what matters.”

“I don’t know if that’s really helpful,” Richie tells him honestly.

“Did I ever tell you why I quit drinking?”

Richie looks up at him, brow furrowed in slight confusion. “I didn’t think you ever drank.”

“I did. A long, long time ago. In fact, I drank too much and pretty much all the time. I quit after… after I hurt your mother. I hit her.”

The way he says it is almost casual, but after several long moments of stunned silence and the suppressed shame on his father’s face, Richie finally realizes his dad is serious. “You _hit_ mom? And she _stayed_ with you?” Richie clarifies, because he knows Maggie Tozier would not take that kind of shit from anyone.

“Not at first,” Went explains. “Very reasonably, she left. The second after it happened, I kind of came to and apologized, but she was already pulling her engagement ring off to throw at me before walking out the door. She called me the next day and told me that I was a good man and that I needed help, but she couldn’t subject herself to the abuse of my alcoholism. I hadn’t hit her before, but once was enough for both of us. So, I did what I had to do. Dropped out of med school, cut off ties with my father and brothers — any kind of influence that made it hard to stay sober — and went into rehab. I spent six months in Juniper and your mother was waiting for me right outside.”

Richie, quite frankly, is still in a state of shock over this. He can’t comprehend this side of his parents; how his mother would dare go back to someone who would do something so awful to her, or that his father had been the one to do it.

“So, what, you just quit drinking and _boom,_ you’re a good person?”

“No, Richie,” Went sighs. “Despite my years of thinking otherwise, your mother has drilled into my head that I always had been a good person. Not all people who do good things are good people and not everyone who does bad things is a bad person. I certainly never _hurt_ anyone before that moment. I quit drinking, but I also assessed everything about myself to make sure that anger would never come out again until I needed it to.”

“Until you _needed_ it to?”

“Whenever it did me some good. I took all my anger at myself and let it push me into going to the dental program. I used my anger to make sure no one else would ever hurt your mother or you kids. I sure as hell used it on any teacher or counselor that insisted something was wrong with you two growing up and made sure you got the right help you needed.”

“There _is_ a lot wrong with me,” Richie can’t help but mutter.

“Maybe there is,” Wentworth says bluntly. “Maybe I’m blinded by the denial of fatherhood.”

“Eddie would deserve better than that.” Wentworth finally looks over at him then. “If there _is_ a lot wrong with me… it would be an awful thing to do to just stay with Eddie.”

“Does he not see you for who you are? Have you two not been best friends for almost your whole lives?”

“He loves me,” Richie says quietly. “But he loved his mother, too. _Still_ loves her. The same way you still loved your dad, even though he was an asshole. I just don’t _get_ it. Why would you love someone so awful to you? Why does Eddie? Why would mom go back to you after you did something like that? Why does Eddie stay with me when I’m so fucked up?”

“It's impossible to say why we love someone. We can come up with reasons if we have to, but the important part happens in the dark, beyond our control. We just know when it is there. And when it goes away. The point I am making, Rich,” Wentworth sighs, looking back out into the darkness creeping in around them as the sun disappears below the horizon. “We all have darkness in us. Monsters, hidden away in the shadows until we’re ready to let them out. It’s all about choices. You just have to ask yourself… which monster do you choose? And what do you use them for?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to yank out some Mr. Miyagi bullshit today,” Richie mumbles. He’s still having a difficult time processing. His entire childhood and teen years, his parents seemed _perfect._ Maybe not the sitcom life kind of perfect, but they were so full of love and laughter and affection and understanding. If someone had hit Penelope or any of Richie’s friends, he would not hesitate to beat the ever living shit out of them and tell them to hit the road.

Richie likes black and white. It’s simple. It’s one thing he and Stan can see eye to eye on with a lot of things. He’s uncomfortable in the gray. He wants to know where the right and the wrong is so he knows where he’s supposed to run to.

“I think I hurt Eddie yesterday,” he finally tells his dad. 

“He seemed fine when you two came in.”

“He seemed fine _then,_ too. He said he… _wanted_ me too.” It’s probably his father’s open honesty that has Richie admitting this to him. Normally, Richie liked to keep his sexual preferences cloaked under a guise of jokes and gross humor. Joking definitely didn’t seem appropriate right now — even if Richie was _never_ normally appropriate. “We got a bit… rough.”

“Oh. _Oh._ I see. Well, I mean,” Wentworth shrugs, taking a swig of his soda. “Can’t help what we like, I guess. As long as you’re both comfortable and safe and for the love of god don’t give me the details.”

Despite everything, Richie laughs a little bit, feeling a little bit lighter. “Doesn’t it make it wrong that I want to… _hurt_ him, like that?”

“When you imagine it in your head — does he like it?”

Richie thinks on this for a moment. “Yeah.”

“And you’d make sure he’s happy every time you guys do — whatever the hell it is you’re doing?”

“Yeah…”

“Then, my advice stays the same. Stay on the same page, keep out anything someone doesn’t like, make sure you have each other’s best interest in mind. Plus, it could be worse. I had an ex-girlfriend who wanted to piss on me.”

“Dad, that’s fucking _revolting,”_ Richie groans, although he’s not sure if he’s actually disgusted or just grossed out because it’s his _father._

“Yeah, so’s your face,” Went teases, ruffling Richie’s hair as Richie shoves him away.

“Very mature, Old Man,” Richie scoffs. He finishes off his soda and realizes that he had peeled away half the paper around the glass with his thumb nails as he spoke. He did feel a bit better, but he knew in order to know for sure, he had to talk to Eddie. If he was willing to choose whatever monster was in Eddie, maybe it was fair to give Eddie that same choice. “Thanks for this, Dad.”

“Anytime, buddy,” Wentworth smiles, pulling Richie in with an arm around his neck to kiss him at the hair. Both of his parents were always so affectionate, and Richie was glad to never feel shame for it in their presence. 

Maggie and Penelope had decided to stay out, having left a note on the fridge with a number for a pizza place in case the boys didn’t want to cook so late. It was quiet in the house and Richie almost had a heart attack when he walked into his empty room, no Eddie in sight.

“He left a note next to your mother’s,” Wentworth tells Richie after he came barreling down the stairs. 

“Oh. Where’d he go?” 

“Guess he went out with Stanley. He should be home soon. Pizza?”

“Sure,” Richie says absently, making his way to the living room. He’s a little upset not to see Eddie right away when he gets home, but he can’t very well be mad. Eddie living with him now doesn’t mean he needs Eddie glued to his hip all the time. It’s especially not fair considering he had just been out with his dad for the entire day. Trying not to be clingy, Richie decides not to call Stan and give Eddie his space.

Eddie had made a point that neither of them were at fault last night. Richie didn’t blame Eddie for something he couldn’t control, or at least didn’t _know_ he could control. He tried to let Eddie’s words sink in and plant themselves deep in the soil of Richie’s mind. Richie wasn’t able to stop himself, certainly not able to stop himself from doing whatever he wanted to Eddie. But even under the unforeseen hypnosis, he _hesitated_ and made sure Eddie wanted it. It had to mean something if, even if Richie was placed in the position of power of Eddie to act out his desires, he wanted Eddie to want it, too.

Whatever the case, they needed to talk. Next time they did anything, Richie wanted to be absolutely sure they would both be ok. Whether it be in their newly developed sex life or a future or vampirism together, they had to be on the same page, just like Wentworth said. All Richie wanted, _really,_ deep down, was for Eddie to be happy and whole. If both of them being blood-thirsty, sex-crazy monsters was the way to make that happen, so be it. 

Eddie thought Richie was _disgusted,_ and Richie had been mortified by his own actions, when apparently, neither of them should feel any shame for it at all. Both of them needed to assure each other of that and share the delight that their desires fit pretty damn well together. The more Richie lingered on the image of Eddie after they finished, the better he felt about it. He couldn’t remember seeing Eddie look so _pleased_ before, so remarkably happy, and making that happen again could very well be one of Richie’s priorities. 

It’s not one minute after Wentworth leaves to pick up their food when the phone rings. Not many people would call this late, so Richie’s heart does a little Snoopy dance and he flies off the couch in no time at all to pick it up. He’s so eager to have Eddie come home now that all of his energy is tightly wound and he needs to set it loose.

“Pinky’s Porno Palace, how can I be of service?” Richie grins into the phone.

His heart drops like a solid brick at the pit of his stomach as a sob comes through the receiver. It’s all too familiar and Richie’s palms start sweating immediately.

“Eds? Eddie, what’s wrong?”

 _“Richie…”_ Eddie cries; it breaks Richie’s heart. It’s completely broken and full of anguish, beyond anything Richie’s ever heard from him before.

“Eddie, where are you?”

The response is so incomprehensible, nothing but spit and babbling tears and Richie presses the phone into his ear so hard he’s not sure how it doesn’t lodge straight through his skull. “Sweetheart, take a deep breath for me.” 

_“Richie… Richie I — I fucked up so bad…”_

“Hey, baby, whatever it is we can fix it,” Richie cooes over the phone.

Eddie’s voice breaks out into painful sobs that come from deep within Eddie’s chest, chilling cries that send a shiver up Richie’s spine.

_“Richie, she's dead. She... Richie, I killed her. I fucking killed her.”_


	8. Darkness is a Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We continue to see both Eddie and Richie's POV from this chapter pertaining to whatever it was Eddie did that prompted that phone call. 
> 
> There's two more chapters left but there's quite a bit that's going to happen, so there *may* or may not be an epilogue. TBD if need be.
> 
> cw/tw;://**contains spoilers**//graphic depiction of murder, blood, mutilation; past assault mentioned, implications of future assault, implications of pedophilia, accidental self harm (via vampire entering uninvited, internal damage)****//

************************

Eddie had no intention of going to Stanley’s tonight.

With the prospect of Richie and his family being out of the house and the rest of the Losers getting ready for their prospective moves, Eddie finally had his first real opportunity to go to his old house. He wasn’t  _ stupid; _ he wasn’t planning on rectifying that relationship whatsoever. But he had a right to whatever shit he had left there — as long as, Maturin willing, Sonia had not thrown it all out in spite.

Bare essentials, Eddie told himself. He was going to break into his room through the window where Richie and Bill used to sometimes sneak in. Then he’d gather some clothes and books and whatever else he wanted to bring to New York with him. Mainly, a tiny wooden chest he kept hidden away with some of Frank’s things. The clothes Eddie could probably live without, after all. He had been surviving with Richie’s old clothes and some of Penelope’s, and he could always get new ones. But he didn’t want to leave bits of his father behind.

So Eddie waited until the coast was clear and set out on his walk. The moonlight was strangely unnerving, but Eddie realizes how draining a full moon can be now. All it is, really, is reflected sunlight, full of weakened UV rays and photons. It’s bound to have similar effects, just a bit lesser. He’ll need to be extra careful avoiding Sonia, but he hopes he has enough mental strength in him to tell her to piss off and avoid shoving her away.

Richie would probably encourage it; that’s the main reason Eddie needed to wait. Eddie had heard Richie several times express his interest in Sonia being six feet under. Eddie could understand that, but Richie had to understand it wasn’t so  _ simple. _ Stanley had thankfully been the one to logically point out that Sonia could suffer in Eddie’s absence without  _ killing  _ her. 

Even in all of his hatred, Eddie still  _ loved  _ her, as sick as that was.

Things feel a little easier when the clouds thicken up as Eddie nears his childhood home. The streets are rather empty; all the porch lights on this street are on and the sun has finally vanished behind the outskirts of town. Nothing but a pale blue fading into the black remained on the horizon above the housetops in the distance. The only light that remained on in Eddie’s house was the living room, images of the television screen dancing in the reflection of the side window. Eddie’s room was on the other side of the house, so this would be perfect. 

He didn’t expect his mother to be anywhere else. 

A small pang of guilt constricted Eddie’s chest as he snuck across his lawn. He thought about her eating dinner by herself — doing  _ everything  _ by herself. It felt so lonely and painful to deal with for a woman of her intense emotions. Eddie was reminded of summer days she kept him in the house in silence, trying to escape in his imagination and sometimes failing due to the crippling despair of isolation. Eddie  _ knew _ it shouldn’t bother him, that she should have to deal with this for all the shit she had done. But it pained him so much to think about her suffering, despite how much of it she had put him through.

“Fucking bullshit,” he mutters, shaking stupid fucking tears out of his eyes. Why the fuck does that  _ hurt _ so much? It’s not fucking  _ fair. _

_ Just get your things, Eddie. Get them and run. _

Having never done this before, Eddie is surprised how easy it is to climb his drainpipe up to his window. He has to give Richie and Bill credit, though, since they weren’t exactly riddled with  _ vampiric strength _ like Eddie is right now. He does try his best to open the window delicately, but realizes that he has to rip it open to break the lock Sonia placed. 

It makes a surprisingly dull little clatter, but Eddie is relieved to get it open. Smells of his old bedroom come wafting out and send a wave of nostalgia through him; fresh linen and lemon ammonia from all the cleaning. Eddie grimaces thinking about what Sonia might have done to his room, to his  _ stuff  _ in his absence. He wonders what could be damning enough in his room to be rid of, like anything of Richie’s or the other Losers that he had kept hidden away in here. Most of the good stuff is in the clubhouse, at least.

However, another problem makes itself aware when Eddie grabs hold of the windowsill — he can’t get it.

Something instinctive and dreadful comes over Eddie when he moves to jump through the opening. He cannot answer as to why, but he just  _ can’t _ do it. It’s something beyond the physical plane before him, beyond just the simple barrier of a closed window. Something otherworldly is stopping him, much like it had at Stanley’s house before he had been invited in. An uncomfortable understanding overcomes Eddie.

This isn’t his house anymore.

“Shit,” he mutters, tentatively trying to stick his hand through the open window. It’s as instinctively terrifying as trying to jump down a cliff. Stick his hand in a shredder. Swerve a car into a tree. Deadly. For some reason. But he’s already survived some heavy shit.

Fuck it. 

Eddie shoves his arm in, but his limbs all give out as a terrible, sharp pain quakes throughout his body, a nauseating  _ crunch _ resonating behind his eyes. His body goes limp and he falls to the ground below, hitting his back on the ground and knocking the wind out of him. The brief, excruciating pain is already beginning to dull, but it’s not unlike the aftershock of a burn, fresh on his skin — or in this case, his head. 

Vision gone blurry, Eddie realizes his eyes are tearing up. He goes to wipe his eyes, both stinging uncomfortably, but when he looks down at his hand he realizes it’s  _ blood.  _ As if his skull had started to cave in on itself from Eddie’s stupid bravery. 

Probably best not to risk doing that again. 

Does he try to go in through the front? Does Eddie dare try and  _ talk _ to Sonia, someone who is notoriously unreasonable and hysterical? He had always been afraid of her before, but there isn’t  _ much _ to be afraid of now. Except… Eddie’s own remorse over leaving. Would he put it past her to try and guilt him back into the house to talk? Eddie wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of needing a physical altercation to stop her or not wanting to stop her at all.

While he ponders this all, he uses the hose from the side of the house to clean off his face, much too disturbed to drink the blood. He wasn’t sure if it were some kind of  _ cursed _ blood, considering the way his body felt like it was crumbling in on itself. The eerie silence that follows after he turns the knob and the water stops flowing makes him feel awfully paranoid, wondering if anyone could have heard all the ruckus he made. 

Avoiding the neighbors seeing him was probably a good idea. Eddie circles around to the back, hoping his mother wouldn’t freak out at him knocking on the door to the kitchen. It was easy enough to hop the fence, drawing his strength from drinking quite a bit from Richie last night. He lands steadily on his feet, gazing around the yard absently as he starts to make his way to the back door.

“Sneaking around, my lovely?”

The voice startles Eddie so abruptly that he stumbles over his feet with a yelp, falling to his knees in the damp grass. He recognizes it before he turns around, his heart thumping erratically as his eyes meet the ones of his vampire attacker, just standing casually in the yard of his childhood home. 

Before now, Eddie had forgotten — or more likely  _ repressed _ — the memory of what this monster looked like. More horrifying than his imagination, this thing looked like just any other man, deadly discreet and unassuming. He’s casually leaning back against the fence Eddie just hopped, black eyes boring into Eddie’s soul.

Eddie wanted to scream. Eddie wanted to run. Except, he couldn’t move a muscle. Nothing felt stiff or immobilizing, but he just  _ couldn’t.  _ As if his body was acting separately from his agonized mind, laying relaxed there on the grass.

“Why don’t you stand up? You look uncomfortable.”

Without a thought to obey — while Eddie  _ actively _ fought against it — he carefully stood to his feet, blankly staring back at the vampire in his yard.

“I have been so very patient waiting for you, darling,” he says, staring over at Eddie hungrily. “You wouldn’t answer my calls. I got worried. I figured you had to have died if you couldn’t hear your Master’s call.”

Eddie merely blinked as the vampire quietly stepped toward him, looking Eddie up and down. 

“I did have to wonder if you were still alive, but then why wouldn’t you answer to your calling? Then, it hit me. You’re still a  _ child. _ I haven’t had the pleasure of turning one before… I had merely used them for what they were good for and bled them dry after. So I was a bit ill-prepared when I saw you, but I just… couldn’t resist the temptation of keeping such a sweet looking pet around to play with. Now that you’re still here, I realize that your  _ Master _ must still be aligned with your parents… how odd.”

_ I’m not a kid! _ Eddie’s brain screamed.  _ I’m a fucking adult, leave me alone! Couldn’t you see I can’t go inside?! _

“I came to have a look for myself and sure enough I could still smell your trail. Here you are, very much alive for me.”

_Run!_ _Run away! Break his fucking spell goddamnit! You could handle the fucking clown, you can handle this freak!_

“So,” the vampire continues, stopping right in front of Eddie. “We’ll have to make some changes, won’t we? I can’t very well just keep compeling you like some  _ human _ until you turn of age. Devil only knows if you’ll just wander back here. After all, if your inner allegiance to a Master is stuck with your parents, the second they call you back here, you’ll just run away from me again. We’ll just have to make sure we change that allegiance, won’t we? I’d imagine if you didn’t have parents at all…” He flashed Eddie a sickly smile that outlined his face with the monster within. “...then you’ll have to listen to your Master again, won’t you?”

Eddie was sure if he was given the allowance, his limbs would be shaking as his brain rattled with screams and terror. A single tear managed to escape and roll down his cheek with a stoic blink as the creature before him took Eddie’s chin in his cold hands.

“You’re going to be a good child for me. You’re going to kill your parents. I can’t stay on the grounds in this town too long… too many other eldritch powers here. But you will call your clan when you’re done. Is that clear?”

_ No,  _ **_No_ ** _! Stop!! Don’t make me do this please I’m not a child I’ll go with you just don’t make me hurt anyone! _

“Yes,” Eddie hears himself say.

“I sure hope you’re hungry, little one.”

*******

It’s not unlike that first night.

Flashes of images. Blackness. Then Eddie comes to.

He’s breathing heavily down on his knees, traces of fresh, new memories invading his brain.

Caleb told him what to do. Yes,  _ Caleb, _ the name ringing clear now as Eddie pictures his face. He fled once he was sure Eddie was set to do what he had been told, quite literally vanishing from Eddie’s sight — if only Eddie knew how to do that as well. Caleb didn’t know Eddie would have to knock. Would have to be invited in.

He was. That was Sonia’s mistake. 

Eddie doesn’t know what hurts to think of more; her wails of anguish, seeing his return to her doorstep and displaying her utter brokenness of his absence… or her shrieks of terror when Eddie was invited in, stepping over the threshold with blackened eyes and fangs jutting out. She was down on her back in seconds.

Fingers sank into her soft skin like butter, nails digging under her larynx as blood pooled in Eddie’s hand and down the sides of her neck. Sonia’s screams were snuffed out when Eddie ripped the innards of her throat out, tearing at her trachea with a sickening  _ snap.  _ Viscera spilled down his forearm as he leaned his head back to drink in the dripping blood. The second it touched his lips, his tongue, he growled hungrily and sucked on the peeled strings of muscle dangling from his hand.

Like a hungry dog to a bowl, Eddie dove his face into her open neck, which sputtered and sprayed as Sonia struggled to breathe and cry beneath him. His palm pressed down on her chest and slowly felt her heartbeat weaken and stop altogether as he satiated himself with thick blood. A death rattle of her final attempted breath choked up into his throat.

The nightmare dissipates; Eddie awakens back into his body, as if he had been floating like a weightless ghost. Body heavy and full, head dizzy and sick, Eddie leans back and sits against the backs of his legs. Now he’s here, awakened from his spell, to look down in horror at what he had done.

“Nonononono,” Eddie croaks, hands hovering over his mother’s body delicately, as if touching her will do more harm. “Mommy…  _ Mommy…” _

His eyes sting but his face is sticky with so much blood he can't feel tears trickling down his face as he sobs over her — over her  _ corpse, _ morbidly displayed in front of him. The woman he relied on his entire life, who had done everything to protect her baby, now slaughtered by his very hands — and teeth. She stares up blankly at the ceiling, the ghost of her final moments of terror still laying plainly on her face.

In his panic, Eddie spins around and yanks the cord to her kitchen phone down roughly, pulling it over to where he sits on the floor, barely able to move. 

He was supposed to call…

No. Richie. He has to call Richie.

*******

Richie could already see Bill rounding the corner to Main just as Riche ran past Palmer Lane. There’s terror on Bill’s face, but a determination that Richie has gotten used to over the years. Always ready to dive face first into danger for the rest of them. Well,  _ all _ of them would risk their lives for each other, but Bill had a certain way about him that drew the rest to look to him to lead the way down.

“Did you—?”

“Yes, Stan’s going to call them,” Bill tells Richie right away. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Well, we gotta go now, Bill!” Richie exclaims, continuing to run despite Bill stopping dead in the street. He’s not sure if he can hear Bill following him, his own heavy feet hitting the pavement and staggering heartbeat in his ears, drowning other sounds out.

Sonia’s house is quiet. No neighbors are lurking around. Richie doesn’t pause as he runs through the Kaspbrak yard and flings himself over the fence.

“Richie, wait!”

The stitch in Richie’s side is probably the only reason he allows himself to freeze there, leaning over and clutching his knees as Bill hops over the fence behind him. “They will be here in a minute,” Bill tells him again. “Mike is coming in his truck. Stan’s going to take Ben. They’ll park down the road so no one gets suspicious.”

“What if we don’t have that much time?”

“We’re fine, Richie. I don’t think anyone has called the cops.”

“I don’t give a shit about the cops.” As Richie says it, a loud sob echoes out from the open back door and Richie’s heart lurches in his chest. “Eds…”

“Hold  _ on, _ Richie!”

Bill grabs Richie’s sleeve roughly and Richie can’t help but feel a flash of whitehot anger overtake him. “Eddie is  _ hurt, _ Bill!”

“We don’t know what we’re walking into!” Bill hisses. “I know you love him Richie, and so do I, but if he killed his mother we still need to be careful!”

“He wouldn’t hurt  _ us, _ you fucking asshole!”

“You don’t  _ know _ that, Richie! For fucks sake, we don’t even know if he’s the same  _ person _ anymore!”

This pisses Richie off, but he just huffs and pulls his arm back from Bill. He was a bit surprised how easily Bill accepted the vampire thing over the phone, although Richie’s panic might’ve been enough to convince him after all the weird behavior from Eddie. But he’s more surprised that Bill is being so determinedly  _ against _ Eddie because of this. He firmly decides not to tell Bill that Eddie chowed down on Richie when they had sex last night. 

“Why the fuck aren’t you stuttering?” Richie spits distractedly, since they apparently need to  _ wait _ .

“My brain is too busy,” Bill says simply.

“He hasn’t hurt anyone,” Richie tells him, pushing back thoughts from last night. “Even when he was hungry and confused, he didn’t do anything to anyone.” 

“He ripped open Stanley’s wall.”

“My apologies to the fucking gypsum plaster.”

“Richie, he just  _ killed Sonia!” _ Bill says through gritted teeth.

“Like you haven’t wanted to fucking do it yourself,” Richie growls. “I can’t fucking tell you how many times I’ve pictured myself ripping her guts out.”

“What she deserves or doesn’t deserve isn’t my concern. Eddie  _ loved _ her, Richie. You know that. He’d be devastated if she died. And now he’s… now she’s…”

Richie didn’t have a retort for that, not even questioning Bill’s high and mighty attitude about it. In the near dead silence while they waited, Richie ruminates over Bill’s words. Because he’s right. Richie hates it and it fills him with angry fire licking at his insides, but Bill is right. The news of Sonia’s demise should have Richie dancing in the streets with noisemakers, but the pain in Eddie’s voice felt like a dagger in Richie’s chest. It’s utterly unhelpful when Richie reminds himself how many times he’s actively voiced his desire to kill her over the last few weeks…

But Richie can’t blame himself entirely if this  _ is _ somehow his fault. He and Eddie are apparently just two sides of the same fucked up coin.

Another sob echoes out of the door just as Stanley and Ben arrive behind Mike, and Richie is bolting towards the door again. As much as he always wanted to see Sonia dead, he can’t help but reel back in shock at the scene just beyond the door. He freezes as he looks at Sonia’s body, morbidly red, throat open and looking like chop meat, her torso  _ deflated _ in a grotesque way. 

It’s not unlike things he saw  _ It _ transform into, but the very  _ realness _ of this is quite shocking. It’s no longer his childhood imagination — though, he very well has imagined Sonia looking like this a few times. The stench of the blood is quite putrid, sending shivers and nausea through Richie’s body; it smells of stale rot and  _ death.  _ Richie knew Eddie had to have drained her damn good. Her skin — whatever Richie could see left of it — looked shriveled up like raisins, like all her innards had been vacuumed out by a Hoover.

“Holy shit,” Richie breaths, staring down in — he’s not really sure what. His brain — his  _ stupid,  _ impulsive brain — wants to crack a joke and thank himself for not letting Eddie suck his dick yet with fangs that could do  _ this. _ However, very thankfully, he’s cut short.

“Richie!” Eddie cries. Richie looks up to see he’s next to Sonia, brown eyes wide and shining bright in a face caked with blood, save for some clean streaks down his cheeks from all his crying. He reaches his hands up like a lost toddler, looking quite like one after a messy meal — if that meal had been a live carcass.

“Stop!” Stan hisses, throwing his arm out in front of Richie’s chest. “Eddie, don’t move!”

Eddie merely hiccups and nods. 

“Stan?” Richie asks tentatively. He’s vibrating. He wants to take Eddie. He wants Eddie out of this sight and make sure he knows this is ok. Weirdly, totally ok.

“Eddie,” Stan begins slowly. “Did you move at all?”

“Nuh-no.”

“Ok…” 

Stan’s eyes quickly scan around the kitchen. Richie leans through the doorway to flip the light switch, further illuminating the horrific scene before them. Eddie sobs harder, ripping Richie’s heart in two, but Stan just looks on with a calculating expression. 

“Eddie,” Stan says again. “Try and take your shoes off and throw them over here.” 

Eddie looks confused, but does as he’s told. He shifts his legs, sitting down on his ass to peel his sneakers off. Mike pushes himself beside Richie, holding out a bag to catch the bloody shoes in.

“What have you touched besides the phone?” 

“Nuh-Nothing,” Eddie stammers.

“Ok, good,” Stan sighs. “Don’t touch the floor with your hands, either.”

“I — I think I already did.”

“That’s fine, Eddie, just… try and crawl over here without touching the floor with your hands.”

“Stan—”

“Richie, be fucking patient for a second,” Stan says firmly, holding his hand up to Richie’s face. He’s remarkably calm for such an intense situation, but in fairness they had dealt with some equally fucked up shit before. Richie feels a little sick, but can’t help but admire Stan a bit at this moment. “Richie, you’ve got the longest arms. Pick him up.”

Without hesitation, Richie leans down to scoop Eddie up from under his arms, Ben grabbing Richie’s waist to keep him from falling forward at the odd angle. Feeling Eddie’s warmth against his hands filled Richie with such strong relief, squeezing Eddie tight against him once he was secure in his arms, his legs wrapping around Richie’s waist. 

“Hey, baby, I gotcha,” Richie cooes, petting his hand through Eddie’s hair as his other arm holds Eddie up. Eddie is sobbing into his neck, soaking Richie’s collar with stale-smelling blood. He can’t help but grimace at that, even if it’s Sonia’s.

“I’ll… look for any fingerprints,” Stan mutters, looking down at the blood in disgust.

“I’ll help,” Bill offers quietly, eyeing the cleaning products Stanley had already brought with him. They’ll probably never complain about him keeping so many in his car ever again.

“Where should we clean Eddie up?” Mike asks, gently putting a hand on Richie’s shoulder and rubbing Eddie’s back. Richie’s appreciative of the gesture, because even if Eddie is light, the burden feels quite heavy right now.

“You still have a blanket in your trunk, Mikey?”

“Yeah,” Mike nods. 

“Hope you’re not too fond of it.”

“You guys take him,” Ben tells them, eyeing Eddie’s blood-covered, tiny, trembling body with apprehension. “I’m gonna keep a look out for them. Maybe take him to the quarry.”

“I’m really gonna start to hate that place,” Richie mutters to himself, shifting Eddie a bit to hold him closer.

Not a word is uttered as Mike drives his pickup. The only sounds are Eddie’s sniffling from where he’s curled up in the blanket on Richie’s lap and Janis Joplin playing softly on the radio. Richie keeps thinking of things to say, but every few seconds Mike gives him a glance that can only be described as stern. He doesn’t want Richie to say something stupid. It’s understandable; he usually does, and they’re both probably thinking the same thing.

Good riddance.

“I have some clean clothes,” Mike tells them after they get out of the truck. “Just throw all of those aside and rinse the — rinse him off.”

“Thanks, Mike,” Richie murmurs, setting Eddie down just before the waters edge. Eddie nearly falls over, but Richie stands him up straight. “Hey, Eds, look at me. I need to get your clothes off.”

Eddie doesn’t look at him, but he complies and raises his arms for Richie to peel —  _ literally _ peel — the sticky, blood-soaked shirt from his skin. To be safe, Richie leaves Eddie’s boxers in a separate pile so they don’t discard them with the dirty clothes. Once he’s sure Eddie won’t topple to the ground, Richie undresses himself the same and helps take Eddie into the water.

Bathing your lover in the moonlight feels like an intimate thing, Richie thinks to himself. It almost feels like a baptism as he gently arches Eddie back over his arm to dunk his face and hair in the water, running his hands through Eddie’s hair to try and comb all the blood out. He has half a mind to ask Eddie why the hell he had been at Sonia’s in the first place, but doesn’t want to make Eddie feel more guilty than he surely already feels.

“I can’t believe I did that to you.”

Richie froze, blinking down at Eddie’s face. “Did… did what to me, Eddie?”

“Whatever it was that… put you in that trance,” Eddie gulps, looking up at the sky with a blank expression. “It’s so awful. It’s so… violating.”

“I didn’t feel violated, Eds,” Richie assures him. “It was oddly… freeing I guess. But I guess that’s because it was  _ you. _ Honestly, I think the strangest thing about it was that I felt very… tethered to you, I guess? It’s hard to explain. I know at the time I was upset when I didn’t understand what was happening, but I started to realize I could really feel you inside, you know? You were right though. I wouldn’t have hurt you any way you didn’t want me to. I was like… listening to you in my head.” Richie carefully pulls Eddie up, holding him around the waist so he can look at him properly. “Why are you bringing that up now?”

“He came back,” Eddie whispers, nearly inaudible. “Caleb — the vampire that raped me.”

Richie is taken aback, not having heard Eddie use  _ the word _ before now. “He came back… tonight? Did he… kill Sonia? Did he take you there?”

“No… yes? He caught me sneaking into the house and he… he didn’t realize I didn’t live there anymore, he thinks I’m still like  _ a kid. _ That’s why he turned me, he said. He wants to… keep me as a pet.”

Richie is  _ revolted  _ by this knowledge, sickened down to his core — not just for Eddie, but at the idea in general. People like that, people like the Bowers’ gang, like Bev’s dad. He bites his tongue again so he doesn’t chastise Eddie for going to Sonia’s alone, for risking anything happening to him. Surely the hubris of vampire powers prevents you from analyzing risk properly — especially when you don’t expect another vampire to just show up. 

“He compelled me to _ kill her,” _ Eddie continues, his voice breaking and his small face contorting in distress. “I didn’t want to, Richie… I can’t… I…”

“I know, Eds. It’s ok…”

All Richie can do is murmur soothing thoughts into Eddie’s ear. He can see Mike waiting patiently for them on the shore over Eddie’s shoulder, the others slowly coming into view as they arrive. Eventually, when Richie’s fingers start to prune, he helps swim Eddie back to where Mike — and now the other Losers — are politely covering their eyes so Richie can get them redressed.

“The vampire that turned Eddie came back,” Richie tells the group.

“Oh, shit,” Ben breathes, his lack of confusion confirming Mike or Bill had the courtesy to explain the situation to him and Stan.

“Eddie, are you ok?” Bill asks “Did he hurt you again?”

Richie immediately feels like a piece of shit for not asking this directly himself, but Eddie shakes his head. He tells all of them what the creature — Caleb — had said to him. Oddly enough, Mike looks more intrigued than concerned like the rest of them, taking in what Eddie is telling him like he’s hearing a lecture. Richie doesn’t really understand much of it.

“So he compelled you to call your clan right after?” Mike asks softly. 

“Yuh-yeah.”

“And you called Richie?”

Eddie blinks and looks up at Richie with a strange expression, as if he’s asking Richie for something that Richie doesn’t quite understand. 

“What’s even more interesting,” Mike muses. “Is that you haven’t been called back to him. You’re still here with us.”

“What are you getting at?” Stan asks. 

“We haven’t had any phone calls from vampires,” Eddie mumbles, still clutching onto Richie.

“No, not a  _ phone _ call. An internal calling. It’s some sort of power, I think. There’s a lot of theory I’ve read about how the clans work. There’s been roughly three types of vampires spotted in Maine, less human the higher up you go in the ranks. It seems like Eddie would be the lowest rank, the most human. The elder vampires are ancient and pretty grotesque looking; think Nosferatu.”

“Get to the point,” Richie huffs, snapping his fingers.

“Well, there’s still, like, a hierarchy that vampires follow — or maybe  _ have _ to follow, I’m not sure. Supposedly if a vampire of one rank turns someone below them, they become a Master of the new vampire. They can have pretty much complete control over their…  _ children,  _ I guess you can say? But I guess it doesn’t always work like that. If he says he called Eddie and Eddie wouldn’t listen—”

“Ok, guh-great,” Bill shrugs. “So either thuh-the creep can’t do it puh-properly or the thuh-theories are wrong.”

“Or they’re only right to a degree. Eddie, who did he tell you to call?”

“My… my clan,” Eddie whispers.

Mike waves his hand in a  _ eureka _ moment, looking over at Richie. 

“I’m not a vampire,” Richie reminds Mike. “How do I count? No pun intended—”

“Rich.”

“Sorry, Eds.”

“Some bonds are stronger than others,” Mike says softly. “I think we pretty much established our own clan years ago.”

“With the fucking clown shit again, are you serious?” Stan groans, already looking tired.

“Maybe it was before the clown. We all had something inside of us already, didn’t we? Some kind of shining ability? Not to mention our blood oath after all of that—”

“So we cut our hands and we’re vampire clans now?” Ben asks incredulously.

“Not  _ exactly—” _

“Does anyone care that my mom is dead?”

All five of the others freeze, both looking down at Eddie; stone-faced and void of emotion. None wanted to really answer that question truthfully, looking back up at each other with an unmistakable agreement; definitely  _ not. _

“We cuh-care about huh-how you’re fuh-feeling, Eddie,” Bill tells him softly.

Richie wants to tell Bill that’s a little rich coming from the guy who was afraid of Eddie earlier, but he bites his tongue. Knowing it was technically the other vampires fault was probably enough to calm Bill down and Eddie doesn’t need that right kind of stress now. Eddie is the only thing Richie is concerned about.

“How  _ are _ you feeling, Eddie?” Stan asks carefully.

It’s an odd question in a normal situation like this; obviously, Eddie is distraught. But there’s something in Eddie’s eyes that they can all see, something they sense that Eddie is afraid to admit.

“I was… upset.”

“Was?” 

Eddie blinks, moving to wipe his cheek, but there’s only water there from the lake. No tears. “I’m a monster.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose, Eddie,” Richie reminds him gently.

“I know that. I’m a monster because I don’t… because I feel relieved.”

There’s another blanket of silence over them for a few moments. No one knows how to respond, how to comfort something like that — not really. Richie could make a joke and make it worse, but Mike surprisingly beats him to the first word.

“If it’s any consolation, Eddie; so are we.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for playing around a bit with the Salem's Lot lore, but my copy is still at my old place in NY (where I am no longer living) and I am catering to my own needs for this AU.
> 
> I'm very happy there's a general consensus of Stan's Cat > Sonia.  
> But, now that she's out of the way...


	9. I Can’t Kiss My Own Neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnnd we’re back 😎  
> Idk what to say, this chap is a lot of porn. But I’ve added a chapter to have a separate epilogue so yeee.
> 
> If you don’t wanna read the cw spoilers, just take note it’s a really bloody scene. Hmu if I’m missing tags!
> 
> cw/tw;://**contains spoilers**//sexual content: domsub elements, finger sucking, oral sex, choking, manhandling, anal fingering, blood as lube, knife play, face slapping, anal penetration, cutting, blood drinking, blood play, biting, scratching, bulging****//

************************

###    
The air in the clubhouse felt stale and cold, even with the hatch open to let the sunlight shine through the space below. It’s creator had finally moved on; Ben had left for Chicago and seemed to have forgotten to call the numbers the remaining Losers scribbled on his notebook. Without a number to call him back, they were lost to him. Soon, Bill and Mike would be leaving for California, followed by the trio planning on going to New York.

All of their childhood posters are still hung up on the dirty walls. Eddie takes in a deep breath, his muscles strengthening in the darkness away from the sun. He tries to let all the happy memories they made in this place seep into his skin and fill him with joy. He knew Maggie and Went meant well, but he was becoming sick of all the questions since his mother’s funeral. He was fine. Completely fine. He just needed some space.

He doesn’t have to spend too much time worrying, because he feels Richie slowly snake his arms around his waist from behind and it immediately puts him back at ease. 

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” Richie whispers in his ear, brushing some of Eddie’s hair back. “Feels kind of weird to desecrate the clubhouse with our occult shit.”

“We won’t be desecrating it,” Eddie tells him, reaching an arm up behind him to touch Richie’s neck, leaning his head back against his chest. “This will be a good memory. Nothing like mine. Besides, I… it’s not just going to be biting and stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

Eddie takes a breath and turns around in Richie’s arms, hooking his arms around Richie’s neck to pull himself up, planting a small kiss on Richie’s chin. “Well, there’s just… I’ve been thinking and it seems that a lot of vampires kind of make a ritual out of it. I think that’s why my fangs come out when we do stuff.”

“You’ve gotten better at controlling it.”

“No, I know, but… maybe that happens for a reason, you know?”

“So… what, you wanted privacy so you could stick your teeth in my neck while my dick is buried in your ass?”

“I mean, kind of,” Eddie giggles shyly. “Besides, I… I mean, we haven’t really done anything crazy since the car. I thought it would be nice to try again without the puppet strings this time. You might enjoy it more.”

“Mmm,” Richie hums, peeling one of Eddie’s hands away so he can start kissing Eddie’s knuckles. “You sure you’re up for it? It’s been… quite a week.”

“Absolutely. Are _you_ sure you’re up for it so soon? You know… the vampire thing?”

“Can’t exactly let you kill that fucker all by yourself, can I?” 

Eddie nods solemnly, but he quickly pushes back all thoughts of Caleb and the plan they’re going to carry out in their final days in Maine.

“Oh, here…” Eddie reaches into his pocket and hands over a switchblade that he had taken from Richie’s nightstand, placing it in Richie’s hand.

“What’s this for?”

“You won’t be able to break my skin so easily with a bite,” Eddie reasons. “I thought it might be a good idea, just in case. Is that ok?”

Richie huffs out a laugh, gently tucking the knife away before taking Eddie’s hand back. Eddie smiles up at him. His skin is tingling where Richie trails his lips to leave small kisses on his wrist. He drops his other hand down to Richie’s chest, trying to gently push Richie back into one of the cleaner beanbags, but accidentally throws Richie over the damn thing entirely.

“Shit!” Eddie shouts, half-laughing as Richie’s legs stick out from behind the beanbag. “I swear I didn’t mean to do that.”

“No, this is fine,” Richie sighs, staring up at the ceiling where he’s lying half on the floor. “This is probably my last chance to say I got tossed around by a five-four twink. Just wait ‘til I start getting blood strength, you little brat.”

Eddie snorts as he helps Richie up, easily yanking Richie up by his long limbs. They stumble a little clumsily, but Richie grabs Eddie’s arms tight as the steadies himself, looking down at him intently. Eddie almost has half a mind to think he’s accidentally compelled Richie again, but he realizes it’s merely from how blown out Richie’s pupils are. The bright blue is becoming a thin line. Coming from anyone else, the look would make Eddie want to shrink away, but he can’t take his eyes off of Richie’s.

“You’re not going to do that again, are you, sweetheart?” Richie whispers, taking Eddie’s chin his in fingers. It’s not hard, but it’s firmly keeping Eddie’s head in place — even if Eddie could technically rip away with no issues. He doesn’t want to.

“No,” Eddie says back, gulping as he stares up at Richie’s intense expression. All he wants to do is whatever Richie tells him to.

“You wanna show me what you’ve been practicing?” Richie asks quietly, thumbing Eddie’s bottom lip. “Show me how good you’re getting with your mouth.”

There’s a double meaning behind it that Eddie grasps immediately and he sinks to his knees in front of Richie. He was supposed to be practicing keeping his fangs in and Richie asked him to try holding them back while he touched himself in the shower. It’s only been a few days but he thinks he’s gotten good at holding back until the last possible moment. He’s not sure if Richie’s gaze will make it harder or spur him on to be more obedient. 

Considering what else Richie is asking him to do, he really hopes it’s the latter.

“Rich?” Eddie murmurs shyly from between Richie’s legs. “Can I… ask for a favor?”

Richie’s eyes narrow down at him, although Eddie suspects it’s mostly for show. He knows Richie would take anything Eddie asks into consideration and only do what Eddie really wants. “What is it?”

“Can I, uh… call you something?”

“What? You wanna start calling me Daddy?” Richie laughs.

Eddie swallows nervously, licking his lips as his hands vibrate with slight embarrassment as Richie’s fingers comb through his hair. “Actually, it’s… kind of different. I just… I don’t know why, but I… I wanna call you… Master. If that’s ok?”

He can sense Richie’s breath hitch above him, sense the quickening of Richie’s heart beating in his chest, his fingers twitching where they’re in Eddie’s hair. Eddie can even feel the blood rushing through Richie’s body and he relishes in how much he can just _feel_ how turned on Richie is by this. 

“You really wanna call me that?”

Eddie looks straight up at him through his lashes. “Please, Master?”

“Jesus Christ,” Richie croaks, fisting his hand in Eddie’s hair. He takes a second to collect himself before he thumbs Eddie’s chin. “You gonna be a good boy for your Master?”

“Always,” Eddie tells him, his voice almost inaudible even to his own ears in the quiet clubhouse.

As carefully as he can so he doesn’t hurt Richie, he reaches his small hand up to the hand on his chin. Eddie parts his lips and lets Richie slip two fingers to rest against his tongue. He keeps his eyes straight up at Richie’s, not breaking their gaze as he slowly lets his fangs come out and press the tips into Richie’s skin. He’s careful and controlled as he sucks Richie’s fingers further into his mouth and starts drinking from the bite. Richie doesn’t even flinch at the penetration, but he lets out a moan as Eddie trails his tongue along the space between his fingers.

“Good boy,” Richie breathes as he feels Eddie pull his fangs back, gracefully sucking up and down Richie’s fingers. “Keep your teeth in for me. Open your mouth.”

Richie pulls his fingers out, watching as Eddie did just as he said, dropping his jaw and letting his blood-stained tongue roll out over his bottom lip; Richie elicited a low _“fuck”_ at the sight of it. His own dick is angrily pressing against his shorts where it’s still tucked away, salivating as Richie fumbles at his jeans, holding his one still-bleeding hand to the side. 

Once his cock is out, Richie’s dry hand is back in Eddie’s hair, gripping it tightly as his tip balances on the edge of Eddie’s tongue. Eddie can feel a blood drop from his tooth just before he takes Richie’s dick into his mouth and he holds his breath until he feels it hit the back of his throat. An involuntary moan escapes him, his eyelids fluttering as he still looks up at Richie. They haven’t broken eye contact since they started and the intensity of it is making Eddie’s head spin into a daze.

He’s completely lost in the look on Richie’s face, everything else around them fading into nonexistence. His peripherals can catch the stain of blood starting to coat Richie’s cock where Eddie is sucking up and down, flicking his tongue and swirling it around to get as much of Richie’s taste as possible mixed in with his sweet blood. And Richie just looks so blissed out, his hips starting to pick up a steady thrusting to match Eddie’s bobbing, and he finally holds Eddie’s head still with the grip in his hair to just start fucking Eddie’s throat.

“Hold still,” Richie demands and Eddie just goes completely limp in Richie’s grip, hanging from his grasp like a doll as Richie keeps fucking his face. It sends a rush through Eddie, tingling up his spine and tickling his head from the inside. “Fuck, you’re so good taking your Master’s cock, sweetheart. You’re gonna let Master fuck your tight little hole?”

Eddie moans around his cock, trying to nod and confirm, sputtering up more spit down his chin as he just gurgles around the dick in his mouth. Richie’s grip only tightens. He curses under his breath and pulls Eddie’s head off. Eddie gasps for air, pinkish, blood-mixed drool spilling down his chin onto his thighs, a trail of spit still connecting his mouth to Richie’s reddened, wet cock.

Richie’s hand lets go of the top of Eddie’s head and squeezes around Eddie’s throat. Eddie’s pulse pounds in his ears as Richie lifts him up with ease, twisting them around to toss Eddie’s back onto the beanbag. He throws himself over Eddie, straddling him with his hand still on his throat, holding Eddie still. 

Eddie finally breaks their gaze to look over at Richie’s fingers, his eyes widening at the sight. Richie had let his fingers bleed; the dark, thick blood pools at his fingertips. Careful to keep as much of it coating them as possible, Richie uses his own knees to push Eddie’s up towards his chest, spreading his cheeks out as Richie dips his fingers down, shoving them past the hem of Eddie’s shorts and through his briefs.

Eddie tries to let out a silent moan that catches in his throat beneath Richie’s hand, his mouth opening to only let out a pathetic squeak as Richie’s wet fingers find his hole. Richie rubs into it for just a few seconds before breaching it with his blood-coated fingers; slick, wet, and rough. Eddie’s eyes tear up as Richie immediately starts abusing his hole, spreading the blood around and opening him up with the quick thrusts of his fingers. Eddie’s mind is completely gone.

“That’s a good boy,” Richie coos, so contrasted to how his body is treating Eddie. His knuckles are bruising Eddie’s ass cheeks where he’s fucking into Eddie with his fingers and hitting his prostate. “Keep holding still. You’re gonna lay there and let your Master do what he wants to you.”

Eddie attempts to nod, his eyelids fluttering shut before he feels Richie smack him hard across the face, only briefly relieving his throat from Richie’s grip before Richie is squeezing it again.

“Don’t fucking look away from me,” Richie spits, his bright eyes burning with fire, crushing Eddie’s throat in his grip. “You look at your fucking Master when he’s talking to you.” 

Another finger pushes up into Eddie’s hole and he’s starting to lose count, only able to focus on the burning of the stretch and the high in his head, neither of which he wants to end. Richie grabs his face roughly, cupping his palm under Eddie’s chin and bruising his cheeks in the grip of his fingers.

“You’re all fucking mine,” Richie growls. “And I’m gonna make sure you’re mine forever. No one else is gonna lay their fucking hands on you.”

“No, Master,” Eddie cries, feeling tears spill down the sides of his face. “I only want you. Only you, forever. I’m all yours.”

“You’re gonna take my cock like a good little whore?”

“Yes please please I want your cock, Master, please fuck me please fuck me!” 

Eddie gasps as Richie pulls his hand away, skin pink-stained as he reaches into his pocket. He takes out the switchblade and knicks the inside of Eddie’s thigh. Blood drips down and Richie wipes it away with his fingers, using it to spread over his cock that’s still glistening with some of Eddie’s spit and his own blood from before. Eddie feels another thrill in his chest at the sight of his blood covering Richie’s dick, the euphoria in his brain spreading through his limbs and making him go limp.

“Hold still,” Richie grunts again, shoving Eddie’s shorts to the side and lining himself up. Eddie can still see the care he’s taking, eyes darting back and forth from the space between Eddie’s legs and his face, making sure Eddie is still ok. Eddie gives the gentlest of nods before Richie shoves his cock in.

Eddie’s back arches at the sensation, sobbing as Richie starts to fuck him into the chair beneath them. Richie wraps his hand around Eddie’s neck again to hold him completely still so he can fuck into him as deeply as possible. Eddie is crying out loud enough for the nearest stranger to hear and Richie is freely moaning out little _ah’s_ as he feels the tight, warm space of Eddie’s ass squeezing his cock. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so good. You’re so good for your Master. I’m gonna have you like this all the time. Treat you like the fucking whore you are.”

“Feels — so — good,” Eddie cries out between Richie’s rough thrusts. “I want — I want you — all the time like this — please, Master. Please — please fuck me — harder —fuck—”

“What, this isn’t enough for you?” Richie growls, releasing Eddie’s throat to grip the backs of Eddie’s legs, spreading both of his knees out to his sides, practically flattening them out so Richie can fuck him even deeper. “You need to get fucked right into the dirt, huh?”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer, only picking up his pace and forcing a shock wave of pleasure to roll through Eddie and shut him right the hell up. He’s only able to babble and make noise, desperately trying to keep his eyes on Richie, just like he told him to. His body is physically pressed into the chair so firmly, he’s got half a mind to think Richie’s going to ram his cock straight through him into the bag below them, moving in and out of Eddie so quickly. 

The sound of his balls slapping against Eddie’s ass is echoing in his head, the smell of their blood circulating through the air and making Eddie’s head dizzy with the sweet aroma. He thinks about it still lingering in his mouth, how Richie is pounding their blood back up into his body with his cock and Eddie moans just at the thought. Drool is dripping down his chin as he salivates and he starts to feel his fangs jutting out beyond his control. He braces himself for Richie to hit him or yell at him for it, but Richie sees the gentle reminder to take advantage of.

He grabs Eddie by the hair and arches Eddie’s head back to expose his neck. Eddie feels the cold tip of the blade and the slight hesitation before Richie slices up the side of his throat. Hot blood trickles down to his collar bone and Richie stares down at it, his hips jerking slightly as he slows his movements down to try and focus on what he’s about to do.

As lost in his head as Eddie is, he can feel how nervous Richie has become, but he looks up reassuringly at him. Richie seems to feel enough of Eddie’s trust to finally take the dive and press his mouth against Eddie’s throat.

Richie’s tongue laps clumsily up Eddie’s skin before his lips lock around the wound. Eddie can feel Richie grimace for just a moment before Eddie is sure he moans, guttural and deep from his chest. Eddie wonders if Richie can taste how good it is, if he can taste himself pulsating through Eddie’s veins. It seems as if he can, as he becomes more ravenous and actually bites his teeth down around the slash and drinks from Eddie hungrily. His hand laces through Eddie’s hair, twisting and pulling, and he starts to pick up his speed again between Eddie’s legs.

When Richie lifts his head up, the blood still lingers on his lips and Eddie can’t help himself but take Richie’s face in his hands and kiss into it. They lick into eachothers mouths and Eddie digs his nails into Richie’s arms, shoulders, chest, drawing more blood from marks Richie lets him lick over until his torso is spotted with bruises and pink streaks from Eddie’s tongue lapping at his wounds. 

In turn, Richie slices across Eddie’s left breast with his knife and bites down into the open wound, moaning into Eddie’s heartbeat. He spreads his tongue flat and licks all the way back up Eddie’s neck. He bites down there hard, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to finally break Eddie’s skin with his teeth and making Eddie cry out. He licks Richie’s blood off his fangs, looking back at Richie once he lifts his head again, forcing Eddie’s face towards his own.

Eddie feels the familiar tug, the heat growing in his belly, but he can’t let it overtake him until he knows Richie wants it to.

“Master,” he whines, his hair bouncing against his forehead as Richie fucks him still. “Master, please let me come.” He looks down to relish in the sight of the bulge of his belly from Richie’s huge cock moving inside of him, and reaches between his legs to touch himself, but Richie takes his wrists and pins them over his head.

“Come on my cock,” Richie demands, squeezing Eddie’s wrists hard and fucking his ass even harder. “Come for your Master, baby. Look at me when you’re coming.”

The permission sweeps over him and Eddie can feel the release overcome him. His cock stutters against his belly as it shoots cum all over his bloody chest. Richie is watching him in awe, like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and looking away will physically pain him.

“Good job, baby,” Richie praises, making Eddie’s chest swell as his head processes the heavy static between his ears. “Hold still and let your Master come. I’m gonna fill you up. I want you to feel me leaking out of your ass tomorrow. I want it to remind you who you fucking belong to.”

“You,” Eddie cries, relaxing his already limp body to let as much of Richie inside of him as possible. “I’m all yours, Master. Forever.”

Richie’s lips crash into his own and Richie moans into Eddie’s mouth, his body tensing up in the intense pleasure as he pushes his cum as deep as he can fuck his cock into Eddie’s small body. Eddie lays still as Richie pulls away, his body somehow both tired from the fucking and rejuvinated from all the blood. He watches as Richie pulls out, still amazed at the size of it fitting inside of him, and can’t stop the rush of excitement at the pink mixture of blood and cum dripping from the tip of Richie’s cock.

“Holy shit,” Richie breathes, looking down at their bodies. Blood, cum, bruises, spit, cuts and scrapes. If Eddie didn’t feel so damn satiated, he’d still want to sink his teeth around Richie and clean him up. 

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks tentatively, still trying to catch his breath.

“I… kind of sick,” Richie tells him honestly, eyes still roaming around at their marks.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers, lifting himself up to cup Richie’s face. “I’m ok. We’re ok. This was amazing.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks softly, finally meeting Eddie’s eyes again through his blood-splattered glasses.

“Absolutely,” Eddie beams. “I want this forever; as long as you do, too.”

Richie smiles back, helping Eddie relax a bit. “Forever.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, stroking Richie’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Get ready for a bumpy ride. It’s gonna be a weird few days.”

“For an eternity with you, my little love” Richie says, taking Eddie’s hand and kissing the inside of his wrist. “Anything is worth it.”

*******

“We got you guys something,” Mike is telling them, closing the back of his truck bed. 

“Is it the phone number of where you’ll be staying?” Eddie asked.

“No,” Mike smiles sadly. “But you’ll know where we’re going to school. So if you can remember us, you’ll know where to go.”

In their research, the Losers had found that creatures of the Occult — now creatures like Eddie and Richie — were not affected by the curses of eldritch powers such as the spell It had on the town. In Pennywise’s long slumber, it was able to force the memory of itself out of the minds of humans so powerfully, that they would forget about Derry altogether. The Losers were now seeing the effects in full bloom with the absence of both Ben and Beverly, but this news sparked a new hope among them.

Eddie and Richie wouldn’t forget.

Richie appeared to have even more issues with the sunlight than Eddie did. He was standing now, leaning against the side of the tree in Bill’s yard, looking like a greaser with a hangover. Eddie had to buy him the darkest shade of sunglasses he could find and Richie now wore Went’s old bomber jacket, despite the intense heat. Whatever he could do to keep the UV off of his skin.

“Which member of the Outsiders are you supposed to be?” Stan deadpans.

“Let’s see how you like it after you’re turned, asshole,” Richie bites back, hardly playful as Stan chuckles at him. 

“Stanley isn’t turning,” Eddie scoffs, although is quick to become concerned. “Are you?”

“No,” Stan sighs. “But I’m weighing my options.”

“You could do the world a favor and eat Donald for us,” Richie shrugs. “Although I could do that myself before we leave if you—?”

“Rich,” Eddie stops him.

“Too soon?” Richie asks, although he doesn’t look too concerned. In fairness, Eddie has been… weirdly fine since Sonia’s funeral. And Richie is very aware of how ok he is. But Richie has been stubbornly grumpy and irritable since the day after his turn, when Maggie made him his favorite pie and he couldn’t enjoy it anymore. He had spent the night before his turn gushing about her cooking, knowing it was the last time he was going to be able to taste it properly. She was so thrilled by his praise, she made sure to start making all of his favorite things before their move to New York. Eddie felt terrible, rubbing Richie’s back as he threw up all of Maggie’s once delicious food into the toilet, his vampire stomach unable to hold in the contents too long.

“Enough talk about muh-murder,” Bill says as he carries over a large cooler and gently places it on the sidewalk. “Wuh-we were hoping this guh-gift would suh-suppress all that.”

“What is it?” Richie asks.

Eddie leans down and lifts the top lid, his jaw dropping as he peers into the contents. “Guys… is this…?”

“Our blood,” Mike smiles at him. “A bit of me, Bill, Stan, and even Ben from right before he left.”

“Bought some supplies from the pharmacy and read up on phlebotomy,” Stanley explains. “I was hoping to keep you guys from snacking on my neck during the drive to Manhattan.”

“It won’t last forever,” Mike continues. “But we got as much as we could before leaving.”

“Guys, this is amazing,” Eddie croaks, feeling his eyes well up with tears, because he has the absolute best friends in the world. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“No, Stan’s right,” Richie groans, eyeing the container with apprehension as the smell of all of their cold blood wafts towards him in the breeze. “I would’ve eaten him in the car without some snacks. This is a necessity.”

“I think once we get to New York, we should start making friends with shady doctors,” Stanley says. “Buy off some black market blood.”

They can’t really tell if he’s serious or not, but Stan laughs to himself anyway.

One by one, they hug Bill and Mike goodbye. Eddie can’t fathom knowing better people than his six Loser friends. He thinks of Beverly and Ben, both in Chicago by now, and hopes that somehow they find each other. If not, at least Eddie and Richie will be able to. He’ll never risk letting them go.

“Take care of yourselves,” Mike tells them, pulling them both in for a hug together. He kisses Eddie on the top of his head and then kisses Richie on the cheek, giving them both a squeeze. “Don’t forget to find us.”

“We won’t,” Richie assures him, patting Mike’s cheek.

“I’ll see you soon?” Eddie asks Bill as he approaches. He’s met with a grin in response, Bill pulling him in for a hug that’s even tighter than Mike’s.

“You buh-bet your ass, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie leans into Bill’s ear, whispering just low enough so no one can hear, “Don’t pussy out, Denbrough. Ask Mike out before someone else snatches him up.”

Bill squeezes him back, sighing in Eddie’s grasp. “I’ll try.”

Saying goodbye still hurts. Eddie lets himself cry in Richie’s car on the way back while Richie reaches back to hold his hand. He’s letting Stanley drive, feeling too weak to drive in the daylight. 

“So,” Stan begins as he parks the car in Richie’s driveway. “When are we going to kill this pedophile piece of shit?”

Eddie snaps his head up towards the front seat. “Wait, what?”

“What, you think I have time to wait around for you dumbasses to do it on your own?” Stanley huffs.

“Stan, that’s not funny,” Richie says seriously.

“You’re never fucking funny, so how would you know?”

“Stan, Richie is right,” Eddie tells him. “We don’t have enough time to turn you before we go to New York. You’ll be too weak. And it’s not… it’s not _easy,_ it’s literally going to change your life—”

“Hold up,” Stan stops him, holding his finger up. “I didn’t say shit about turning.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Richie groans. “Stan, you can’t take on vampires.”

“Oh, but you can?”

“Stanley, I broke a tree in half. Eddie could throw all of you fuckers through a house.”

“Listen,” Stanley sighs. “There’s only two of you. You don’t know what you’re walking into. Besides, you might need fresh blood to drink if you get hurt. You can’t drink from each other, or you both might get too weak.”

Richie narrows his eyes in thought, but Eddie shakes his head. “Stanley, you can’t just come along as our _snack tray.”_

“I wouldn’t just be for that.” Stanley takes a deep breath, briefly revealing fear on his face that he quickly tries to hide away. “If there’s more than just one of them… You guys might need bait.”

“Stan!” Eddie shouts.

“No fucking way,” Richie says. “I’m not losing my best friend because he wants to be a fucking martyr.”

“If the two of you can do it on your own, I’ll only be more help,” Stanley tries to reason. “Besides… you all came back for me in the sewers.”

“Of course we did, Stan,” Eddie says. “We weren’t going to leave you and Beverly.”

“Exactly,” Stan says firmly. “Now it’s my turn to make sure you guys don’t get left behind. I’m not going to risk losing you if there’s anything I can do.”

“Stan…”

“Eddie, I’ve already made up my mind. All we need to do is come up with a plan so I’m not stuck paying rent in Manhattan all by myself because you two dumbasses got killed.”

They all sit in silence for a minute, maybe several. Eddie feels a bit queasy, but it’s daytime and it’s bright out and he knows deep down that nothing they do will stop Stanley. Just like nothing he could do would ever stop them if the situation was reversed. 

“All right,” Richie finally sighs, throwing his arms up in surrender. “Let’s kill this fucking vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have to tell you guys not to do this right?  
> 🙃 😊 no kink shame

**Author's Note:**

> IT tumblr side blog: @fuckbitchesgetreddie


End file.
